THE COURTSHIP o/ 
MILES STANDISH 

AND OTHER POEMS 



By 
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 

WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 

AUSTEN T. KEMPTON 



ILLUSTRATED WITH MANY TEXT ENGRAVINGS AND FIFTEEN 
FULL PAGE ORIGINAL DRAWINGS 



NEW YORK 

GROSSET & DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 



Copyright, 1910 
By Grosset & Dunlap 



©C!,A::^?1?;>:4 



»' « 



Cdl^TENTS 

THE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH 

PAGE. 

I. Miles Standish 9 

II. Love and Friendship 19 

III. The Lover's Errand 28 

IV. John Alden 45 

V. The Sailing of the Mayflower 58 

VI. Priscilla 71 

VIL The March of Miles Standish 80 

VIII. The Spinning-Wheel 90 

IX. The Wedding-Day 100 

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

The Belfry of Bruges 113 

Something Left Undone 1 19 

Maidenhood 120 

The Skeleton in Armor 124 

The Wreck of the Hesperus 131 

Excelsior 137 

Paul Revere's Ride 139 

The Bridge 147 

Sandalphon 151 

The Village Blacksmith 154 

The Old Clock on the Stairs 157 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 



The Standish House Frontispiece 

Page 
"Look at These Arms," He Said, "the Warlike Weapons 

that Haiig Here Facing 8 

Miles Standish, the Captain of Plymouth ii 

"So I Have Come to You Now, with an Offer and Proffer 

of Marriage" Facing 12 

Turned Over the Well- Worn Leaves 17 

A Shelf of Books 18 

"Why Don't You Speak for Yourself, John?" Facing 20 

Miles Standish and John Alden 21 

Like an Awakened Conscience, the Sea Was Moaning and 

Tossing Facing 28 

So Through the Plymouth Woods John Alden Went 31 

Heard the Musical Voice of Priscilla 33 

Priscilla at the Spinning Wheel 35 

Till He Beheld the Lights in the Seven Houses of 

Plymouth Facing 36 

Dreammg of the Hedge-Rows of England 39 

Urging the Suit of His Friend 43 

"* * * Take from the Corner His Musket, and so 

Strode out of the Chamber" Facing 44 

The Mayflower 4P 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

"No ! You Were Angry with Me, for Speaking so Frankly 
and Freely" Facing 52 

A Signal and Challenge of Warfare 55 

Many a Mile They Marched 58 

As They Went Through the Fields in the Blessing and 
Smile of the Sunshine Facing 60 

The Master Cramming Letters and Parcels Into His 
Pockets Capacious 65 

In Autumn the Ships of the Merchants Came with 
Kindred and Friends Facing 68 

"I Was Not Angry with You" 73 

She Standing Graceful, Erect, and Winding the Thread 
from His Fingers Facing 76 

Site of the Old Fort Facing 80 

Simple and Brief Was the Wedding Facing 84 

Pecksuot Insulting Miles Standish 85 

The Return of the Mayflower 89 

Lay Extended Before Them, the Land of Toil and Priva- 
tion Facing 92 

The Spinning Wheel 95 

Rushed Together at Last 99 

Down Through the Golden Leaves the Sunshine Was 
Pouring His Splendors Facing 100 

Taking Each Other for Husband and Wife in the Magis- 
trate's Presence 103 

So Through the Plymouth Woods Passed Onward the 
Bridal Procession 107 

Like a Picture It Seemed of the Primitive, Pastoral 
Ages Facing 108 



LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 

Miscellaneous Poems 

The Belfry of Bruges II7 

Maidenhood 121 

The Skeleton In Armor 125 

The Wreck of the Hesperus 133, 136 

Excelsior 137 

Paul Revere's Ride 141 

The Belfry Tower of the Old North Church 145 

The Bridge. . ^ 149, 150 

Sandalphon 153 

The Village Blacksmith 155 

The Old Clock on the Stairs 159 

The Two Angels 163 

The Day Is Done 171 



INTRODUCTION 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was born In Portland, 
Maine, February 27, 1807, in a barn-like wooden 
house that is still standing. He passed his early life 
in the fine brick mansion in another part of the city that 
is known as the Longfellow House. On his mother's 
side he was descended from Elder William Brewster and 
Captain John Alden. He was thus favored by his an- 
cestry to write this poem, descriptive of the early Pil- 
grim people. Longfellow entered Bowdoin College 
at fourteen, and showed his ability for writing by con- 
tributing to the periodicals even at that early age. By 
the time he was twenty-six he had made a positive place 
in literature. He was Professor at Bowdoin and 
Harvard Colleges. He made four visits to Europe. He 
was married to Miss Mary Potter in 1831 and to Miss 
Fanny Appleton in 1843. There were two sons and 
three daughters born to the second marriage. Long- 
fellow died March 24, 1882, and was buried at 
Mount Auburn Cemetery, Cambridge, Mass. A Me- 
morial Service was held at Appleton Chapel Har- 
vard University, and a great throng of people were 
present. The entire country had been honoring Long- 
fellow on his seventy-fifth birthday just before his 
death, and school children everywhere had been reciting 
his poems. A great wave of sorrow passed over the land 
when Longfellow died, as everybody felt that the 
poet who spoke out of the depths of his great heart to 
the lives and hearts of others had gone from them. The 
citizens of Portland .and Cambridge still vie with each 
other in honoring the memory of the sweet singer of 
Old New England. 



vi INTRODUCTION 

Longfellow was the author of many poems. The 
first of these were published in 1826. Many translations 
and works edited by him appeared between the years 
1826-1830. "Evangeline" was published in 1847, "Hia- 
watha" in 1855, and "The Courtship of Miles Standish" 
in 1858. These are probably the three best known and 
most beloved poems in our language. They are read by 
children in the kindergarten, in both the Sunday and 
day schools, and by the aged grandfathers and grand- 
mothers around the fireside. 

We are greatly indebted to Mr. Longfellow for having 
taken the somewhat dry and uninteresting chronicles of 
the early Pilgrim people and touching them with the 
poetic light and tender romance. He has taken some 
traditions which have come down to us from the early 
days of the Pilgrim settlement and in "The Courtship of 
Miles Standish" has depicted for us the scenes and life 
of the old colony. 

This poem is just the reverse of "Evangeline" and 
"Hiawatha." In the two other poems the climax ap- 
proaches a tragedy, while in "Miles Standish" each 
climax approaches a comedy. In the two longer poems 
the pathos and sadness increase as the poem proceeds, 
but in "Miles Standish" the heart grows lighter and the 
scene grows brighter, until it closes in the satisfying pic- 
tures of the delightful adjustments of all misunderstand- 
ings and the marriage of the lovers midst most ideal 
surroundings. The story of the poem is built around 
the maxim of Miles Standish, "If you want a thing to 
be well done you must do it yourself and not leave it 
to others." 

Having lost his wife, Rose Standish, during the first 
winter of their stay in the Colony, Miles Standish falls 
in love with the sweet-faced maiden Priscilla, of Hugue- 
not descent, who is left an orphan and alone by the 



INTRODUCTION vii 

death of her father, mother and brother. He pities, or 
thinks he does, as well as loves Priscilla and foolishly 
sends John Alden to carry his proposal to her, John 
Alden is himself in love with Priscilla and is very 
reluctant indeed to be the bearer of this proposal, but 
when Miles Standish urges the argument of friendship, 
John Alden, true to his Puritan ideals, puts self m the 
background and goes to transact the delicate business for 
his friend as best he can. He reaches Priscilla with may- 
flowers in hand and is immediately struck dumb by her 
cordial greeting. But John Alden is a hero and he 
seizes the first opportunity to declare Miles Standish's 
love for her, although he does it with the speed of a race 
horse and with a bluntness of which the Captain himself 
was incapable. Priscilla is decidedly piqued by the 
second-hand proposal, and not only refuses the offer of 
Miles Standish, but chides John Alden somewhat severely 
for pressing his friend's suit, although John Alden argues 
strongly that Miles Standish, being a busy man of 
affairs, has no time for such things. The climax is 
reached in the love scene by Priscilla asking John Alden 
the disconcerting question, "Why don't you speak for 
yourself, John?" John Alden pays no attention what- 
ever to the tender hint from the fair Priscilla, except 
to rush frantically from her home and pace up and 
down the seashore until his temperature is restored to 
normal and his disturbed mind is once more calm so he 
is able to return to Miles Standish's home and relate to 
him the outcome of his visit. Miles Standish thinks 
he sees in Priscilla's refusal, most accurately described 
by Alden, a suggestion of deceit on the part of John 
Alden, and after wildly denouncing the unwilling bearer 
of his love message, Miles Standish dashes off to a 
meeting of the Council, and soon after on an expedition 
to fight the Indians, which seemed much more in keep- 
ing with the man than was the wooing of the maiden. 



viii INTRODUCTION 

After things had quieted down in the settlement, the 
news is brought that Miles Standish is dead. John 
Alden then feels perfectly free to woo and wed the fair 
Priscilla, and this he proceeds to do without delay. The 
wedding is arranged for and soon takes place. While 
the simple service is in progress Miles Standish returns 
and is an uninvited spectator. Several times he came 
very near breaking in upon the service, as we would 
rather expect him to do, in much the same manner as 
he would break into an Indian encampment, but he re- 
strains himself, and at the close of the service shows 
his big, kind heart, though hidden beneath a somewhat 
rough exterior, by wishing the bride much joy and 
praising her husband. 

Thus the scenes in the poem end. There are surprises 
in store for Miles Standish, as the good ship "Fortune" 
is soon to arrive and bring to him from the old world 
a certain Barbara with whom his suit is far more suc- 
cessful than with that of Priscilla, and with whom he is 
to live many happy years, and who is to be the mother 
of six lusty children. 

All ends satisfactorily to all concerned, and Miles 
Standish was heard to remark, so tradition tells us, 
some time afterward, that he would not swap his Bar- 
bara for a dozen Priscillas with John Alden thrown in. 
"All the world loves a lover," so all the world loves 
this poem and this quaint, beautiful story. In these 
days when many a home is broken up by the lack of 
just the qualities we find in these old-fashioned people, 
the reading of the poem would prove a most beneficial 
tonic to every reader who loves a home. 

Austen T. Kempton. 



I. 

MILES STANDISH. 

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth, the land of 

the Pilgrims, 
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive 

dwelling, 
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan 

leather, 
Strode, with a martial air. Miles Standish, the 

Puritan Captain. 
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands be- 
hind him, and pausing 
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of 

warfare. 
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the 

chamber, — 
Cutlass and corslet of steel, and his trusty sword 

of Damascus, 
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical 

Arabic sentence, 
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, 

musket, and matchlock. 



lo THE COURTSHIP OF 

Short of stature he was, but strongly built and 

athletic, 
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles 

and sinew^s of iron; 
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard 

was already 
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes 

in November. 
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend, and 

household companion. 
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by 

the window ; 
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon com- 
plexion^ 
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty 

thereof, as the captives 
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not 

Angles but Angels.'* 
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in 

the Mayflower. 



Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent 
scribe interrupting. 
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish, 
the Captain of Plymouth. 





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MILES STANDISH 



II 



"Look at these arms," he said, "the warlike 
weapons that hang here 




Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade 

or inspection ! 
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in 

Flanders; this breastplate, 



12 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Well I remember the day ! once saved my life in a 

skirmish ; 
Here in front you can see the very dint of the 

bullet 
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arca- 

bucero. 
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones 

of Miles Standish 
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in 

the Flemish morasses." 
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not 

up from his writing: 
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the 

speed of the bullet ; 
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield 

and our weapon !" 
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words 

of the stripling : 
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an 

arsenal hanging; 
That is because I have done it myself, and not left 

it to others. 
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an 

excellent adage; 
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens 

and your inkhorn. 



MILES STANDISH 



13 



Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, in- 
vincible army, 




Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and 
his matchlock, 



14 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and 
pillage, 

And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my 
soldiers !'* 

This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, 
as the sunbeams 

Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again 
in a moment. 

Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain 
continued : 

"Look! you can see from this window my brazen 
howitzer planted 

High on the roof of the church, a preacher who 
speaks to the purpose. 

Steady, straightforward, and strong, with irresist- 
ible logic, 

Orthodox, flashing conviction right into the hearts 
of the heathen. 

Now we are ready, I think, for any assault of the 
Indians ; 

Let them come, if they like, and the sooner they 
try it the better, — 

Let them come, if they like, be it sagamore, sa- 
chem, or pow-wow, 

Aspinet, Samoset, Corbitant, Squanto, or Toka- 
mahamon 1" 



MILES STANDISH 15 

Long at the window he stood, and wistfully 

gazed on the landscape, 
Washed with a cold gray mist, the vapory breath 

of the east wind. 
Forest and meadow and hill, and the steel blue 

rim of the ocean. 
Lying silent and sad, in the afternoon shadows 

and sunshine. 
Over his countenance flitted a shadow like those 

on the landscape, 
Gloom intermingled with light; and his voice was 

subdued with emotion. 
Tenderness, pity, regret, as after a pause he pro- 
ceeded : 
"Yonder there, on the hill by the sea, lies buried 

Rose Standish; 
Beautiful rose of love, that bloomed for me by 

the wayside! 
She was the first to die of all who came in the 

Mayflower ! 
Green above her is growing the field of wheat we 

have sown there, 
Better to hide from the Indian scouts the graves 

of our people. 
Lest they should count them and see how many 

already have perished!" 



i6 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Sadly his face he averted, and strode up and down, 
and was thoughtful. 



Fixed to the opposite wall was a shelf of books, 
and among them 

Prominent three, distinguished alike for bulk and 
for binding; 

Bariffe's Artillery Guide, and the Commentaries 
of Caesar, 

Out of the Latin translated by Arthur Goldinge 
of London, 

And, as if guarded by these, between them was 
standing the Bible. 

Musing a moment before them. Miles Standish 
paused, as if doubtful 

Which of the three he should choose for his con- 
solation and comfort. 

Whether the Avars of the Hebrews, the famous 
campaigns of the Romans, 

Or the Artillery practice, designed for belligerent 
Christians. 

Finally down from its shelf he dragged the pon- 
derous Roman, 

Seated himself at the window, and opened the 
book, and in silence 



MILES STANDISH 



17 



Turned o'er the well-worn leaves, where thumb- 
marks thick on the margin, 

Like the trample of feet, proclaimed the battle was 
hottest. 




Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying 

pen of the stripling, 
Busily writing epistles important, to go by the 

Mayflower, 



i8 



THE COURTSHIP OF 



Ready to sail on the morrow, or next day at latest, 

God willing! 
Homeward bound with the tidings of all that 

terrible winter, 
Letters written by Alden, and full of the name of 

Priscilla, 
Full of the name and the fame of the Puritan 

maiden Priscilla! 



I 




MILES STANDISH 19 

11. 

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP. 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying 

pen of the stripling, 
Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of 

the Captain, 
Reading the marvellous words and achievements 

of Julius Caesar. 
After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his 

hand, palm downwards. 
Heavily on the page : ''A wonderful man was this 

Caesar ! 
You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is 

a fellow 
Who could both write and fight, and in both was 

equally skilful !" 
Straightway answered and spake John Alden, the 

comely, the youthful : 
"Yes, he was equally skilled, as you say, with his 

pen and his weapons. 
Somewhere have I read, but where I forget, he 

could dictate 



20 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Seven letters at once, at the same time writing his 

memoirs.'' 
"Truly," continued the Captain, not heeding or 

hearing the other, 
"Truly a wonderful man was Caius Julius Caesar ! 
Better be first, he said, in a little Iberian village. 
Than be second in Rome, and I think he was right 

when he said it. 
Twice was he married before he was twenty, and 

many times after; 
Battles five hundred he fought, and a thousand 

cities he conquered; 
He, too, fought in Flanders, as he himself has 

recorded ; 
Finally he was stabbed by his friend, the orator 

Brutus ! 
Now, do you know what he did on a certain occa- 
sion in Flanders, 
When the rear-guard of his army retreated, the 

front giving way too. 
And the immortal Twelfth Legion was crowded 

so closely together 
There was no room for their swords? Why, he 

seized a shield from a soldier. 
Put himself straight at the head of his troops and 

commanded the captains, 



MILES STANDISH 



21 



Calling on each by his name, to order forward the 
ensigns ; 




Then to widen the ranks, and give more room for 
their weapons; 



22 THE COURTSHIP OF 

So he won the day, the battle of something-or- 

other. 
That's what I always say; if you wish a thing to 

be well done, 
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it to 

others !" 

All was silent again; the Captain continued his 
reading. 

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying 
pen of the stripling 

Writing epistles important to go next day by the 
Mayflower, 

Filled with the name and the fame of the Puritan 
maiden Priscilla; 

Every sentence began or closed with the name of 
Priscilla, 

Till the treacherous pen, to which he confided the 
secret. 

Strove to betray it by singing and shouting the 
name of Priscilla! 

Finally closing his book, with a bang of the pon- 
derous cover, 

Sudden and loud as the sound of a soldier ground- 
ing his musket, 



MILES STANDISH 23 

Thus to the young man spake Miles Standish the 

Captain of Plymouth : 
"When you have finished your work, I have some- 
thing important to tell you. 
Be not however in haste; 1 can wait; I shall not 

be impatient !" 
Straightway Alden replied, as he folded the last 

of his letters, 
Pushing his papers aside, and giving respectful 

attention : 
"Speak; for whenever you speak, I am always 

ready to listen, 
Always ready to hear whatever pertains to Miles 

Standish." 
Thereupon answered the Captain, embarrassed, 

and culling his phrases : 
"'T is not good for a man to be alone, say the 

Scriptures. 
This I have said before, and again and again I 

repeat it; 
Every hour in the day, I think it, and feel it, and 

say it. 
Since Rose Standish died, my life has been weary 

and dreary; 
Sick at heart have I been, beyond the healing of 

friendship. 



24 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Oft in my lonely hours have I thought of the 

maiden Priscilla. 
She is alone in the world; her father and mother 

and brother 
Died in the winter together; I saw her going and 

coming, 
Now to the grave of the dead, and now to the 

bed of the dying, 
Patient, courageous, and strong, and said to my- 
self, that if ever 
There were angels on earth, as there are angels 

in heaven. 
Two have I seen and known ; and the angel whose 

name is Priscilla 
Holds in my desolate life the place which the 

other abandoned. 
Long have I cherished the thought, but never 

have dared to reveal it, 
Being a coward in this, though valiant enough for 

the most part. 
Go to the damsel Priscilla, the loveliest maiden 

of Plymouth, 
Say that a blunt old Captain, a man not of words 

but of actions, 
Offers his hand and his heart, the hand and heart 

of a soldier. 



MILES STANDISH 25 

Not in these words, you know, but this in short is 

my meaning; 
I am a maker of war, and not a maker of phrases. 
You, who are bred as a scholar, can say it in 

elegant language. 
Such as you read in your books of the pleadings 

and wooings of lovers, 
Such as you think best adapted to win the heart 

of a maiden." 



When he had spoken, John Alden, the fair- 
haired, taciturn stripling. 

All aghast at his words, surprised, embarrassed, 
bewildered. 

Trying to mask his dismay by treating the sub- 
ject with lightness, 

Trying to smile, and yet feeling his heart stand 
still in his bosom, 

Just as a timepiece stops in a house that is stricken 
by lightning. 

Thus made answer and spake, or rather stam- 
mered than answered: 

"Such a message as that, I am sure I should 
mangle and mar it; 



26 THE COURTSHIP OF 

If you would have it well done, — I am only 

repeating your maxim, — 
You must do it yourself, you must not leave it 

to others!" 
But with the air of a man whom nothing can 

turn from his purpose, 
Gravely shaking his head, made answer the Cap- 
tain of Plymouth : 
"Truly the maxim is good, and I do not mean to 

gainsay it; 
But we must use it discreetly, and not waste 

powder for nothing. 
Now, as I said before, I was never a maker of 

phrases. 
I can march up to a fortress and summon the 

place to surrender. 
But march up to a woman with such a proposal, 

I dare not. 
I'm not afraid of bullets, nor shot from the mouth 

of a cannon. 
But of a thundering 'No!' point-blank from the 

mouth of a woman, 
That I confess I'm afraid of, nor am I ashamed 

to confess it! 
So you must grant my request, for you are an 

elegant scholar. 



MILES STANDISH 2y 

Having the graces of speech, and skill in the turn- 
ing of phrases." 

Taking the hand of his friend, who still was re- 
luctant and doubtful, 

Holding it long in his own, and pressing it kindly, 
he added: 

"Though I have spoken thus lightly, yet deep is 
the feeling that prompts me; 

Surely you cannot refuse what I ask in the name 
of our friendship!" 

Then made answer John Alden: "The name of 
friendship is sacred; 

What you demand in that name, I have not the 
power to deny you !" 

So the strong will prevailed, subduing and mould- 
ing the gentler. 

Friendship prevailed over love, and Alden went 
on his errand. 



28 THE COURTSHIP OF 

III. 

THE LOVER'S ERRAND. 

So the strong will prevailed, and Alden went on 
his errand, 

Out of the street of the village, and into the paths 
of the forest. 

Into the tranquil woods, where blue-birds and 
robins were building 

Towns in the populous trees, with hanging gar- 
dens of verdure. 

Peaceful, aerial cities of joy and affection and 
freedom. 

All around him was calm, but within him com- 
motion and conflict. 

Love contending with friendship, and self with 
each generous impulse. 

To and fro in his breast his thoughts were heav- 
ing and dashing. 

As in a foundering ship, with every roll of the 
vessel. 

Washes the bitter sea, the merciless surge of the 
ocean ! 



MILES STANDISH 29 

"Must I relinquish it all," he cried with a wild 

lamentation, 
"Must I relinquish it all, the joy, the hope, the 

illusion? 
Was it for this I have loved, and waited, and wor- 
shipped in silence? 
Was it for this I have followed the flying feet and 

the shadow 
Over the wintry sea, to the desolate shores of 

New England? 
Truly the heart is deceitful, and out of its depths 

of corruption 
Rise, like an exhalation, the misty phantoms of 

passion ; 
Angels of light they seem, but are only delusions 

of Satan. 
All is clear to me now; I feel it, I see it dis- 
tinctly ! 
This is the hand of the Lord; it is laid upon me 

in anger. 
For I have followed too much the heart's desires 

and devices. 
Worshipping Astaroth blindly, and impious idols 

of Baal. 
This is the cross I must bear; the sin and the 

swift retribution." 



30 THE COURTSHIP OF 

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden 
went on his errand; 

Crossing the brook at the ford, where it brawled 
over pebble and shallow, 

Gathering still, as he went, the May-flowers 
blooming around him, 

Fragrant, filling the air with a strange and won- 
derful sweetness 

Children lost in the woods, and covered with 
leaves in their slumber. 

"Puritan flowers," he said, ''and the type of 
Puritan maidens. 

Modest and simple and sweet, the very type of 
Priscilla ! 

So I will take them to her; to Priscilla the May- 
flower of Pl3TTlOUth, 

Modest and simple and sweet, as a parting gift 
will I take them; 

Breathing their silent farewells, as they fade and 
wither and perish. 

Soon to be thrown away as is the heart of the 
giver." 

So through the Plymouth woods John Alden went 
on his errand; 

Came to an open space, and saw the disk of the 
ocean, 



MILES STANDISH 



31 



Sailless, sombre, and cold with the comfortless 

breath of the east wind; 
Saw the new-built house, and people at work in 

a meadow; 




Heard, as he drew near the door, the musical 

voice of Priscilla 
Singing the hundredth Psalm, the grand old 

Puritan anthem. 



32 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Music that Luther sang to the sacred words of 

the Psalmist, 
Full of the breath of the Lord, consoling and com- 
forting many. 
Then, as he opened the door, he beheld the form 

of the maiden 
Seated beside her wheel, and the carded wool like 

a snow-drift 
Piled at her knee, her white hands feeding the 

ravenous spindle. 
While with her foot on the treadle she guided the 

wheel in its motion. 
Open wide on her lap lay the w^ll-worn psalm- 
book of Ainsworth, 
Printed in Amsterdam, the words and the music 

together. 
Rough-hewn, angular notes, like stones in the 

wall of a churchyard. 
Darkened and overhung by the running vine of 

the verses. 
Such was the book from whose pages she sang the 

old Puritan anthem. 
She, the Puritan girl, in the solitude of the 

forest. 
Making the humble house and the modest apparel 

of home-spun 



MILES STANDISH 



33 



Beautiful with her beauty, and rich with the 
wealth of her being ! 




Over him rushed, like a wind that is keen and cold 
and relentless. 



34 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Thoughts of what might have been, and the 

weight and woe of his errand ; 
All the dreams that had faded, and all the hopes 

that had vanished. 
All his life henceforth a dreary and tenantless 

mansion, 
Haunted by vain regrets, and pallid, sorrowful 

faces. 
Still he said to himself, and almost fiercely he 

said it, 
"Let not him that putteth his hand to the plough 

look backwards; 
Though the ploughshare cut through the flowers 

of life to its fountains. 
Though it pass o'er the graves of the dead and 

the hearts of the living. 
It is the will of the Lord ; and his mercy endureth 

for ever!" 



So he entered the house : and the hum of the 

wheel and the singing 
Suddenly ceased; for Priscilla, aroused by his 

step on the threshold. 
Rose as he entered, and gave him her hand, in 

signal of welcome, 



MILES STANDISH 



35 



Saying, "I knew it was you, when I heard your 
step in the passage; 




For I was thinking of you, as I sat there singing 
and spinning." 



36 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Awkward and dumb with delight, that a thought 

of him had been mingled 
Thus in the sacred psalm, that came from the 

heart of the maiden, 
Silent before her he stood, and gave her the 

flowers for an answer, 
Finding no words for his thought. He remem- 
bered that day in the winter. 
After the first great snow, when he broke a path 

from the village. 
Reeling and plunging along through the drifts 

that" encumbered the doorway, 
Stamping the snow from his feet as he entered 

the house, and Priscilla 
Laughed at his snow}'" locks, and gave him a seat 

by the fireside. 
Grateful and pleased to know he had thought of 

her in the snow-storm. 
Had he but spoken then ! perhaps not in vain had 

he spoken; 
Now it was all too late; the golden moment had 

vanished ! 
So he stood there abashed, and gave her the 

flowers for an answer. 



MILES STANDISH 37 

r 

(Then they sat down and talked of the birds and 

the beautiful Spring-time, 
Talked of their friends at home, and the May- 
flower that sailed on the morrow. 
*T have been thinking all day,'' said gently the 

Puritan maiden, 
"Dreaming all night, and thinking all day, of 

the hedge-rows of England, — 
They are in blossom now, and the country is all 

like a garden ; 
Thinking of lanes and fields, and the song of the 

lark and the linnet. 
Seeing the village street, and familiar faces of 

neighbors 
Going about as of old, and stopping to gossip 

together, 
And, at the end of the street, the village church, 

with the ivy 
Climbing the old gray tower, and the quiet graves 

in the churchyard. 
Kind are the people I live with, and dear to me my 

religion ; 
Still my heart is so sad, that I wish myself back 

in Old England. 
You will say it is wrong, but I cannot help it: 

I almost 



38 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Wish myself back in Old England, I feel so lonely 
and wretched.'' 



Thereupon answered the youth: — "Indeed I do 

not condemn you; 
Stouter hearts than a woman's have quailed in 

this terrible winter. 
Yours is tender and trusting, and needs a stronger 

to lean on; 
So I have come to you now, with an offer and 

proffer of marriage 
Made by a good man and true, Miles Standish the 

Captain of Plymouth!" 



Thus he delivered his message, the dexterous 

writer of letters, — 1 
Did not embellish the theme, nor array it in 

beautiful phrases, 
But came straight to the point, and blurted it out 

like a schoolboy; 
Even the Captain himself could hardly have said 

it more bluntly. 
Mute with amazement and sorrow, Priscilla the 

Puritan maiden 



J^ 



MILES STANDISH 39 

Vj^ooked into Alden's face, her eyes dilated with 
wonder, 
Feeling his words like a blow, that stunned her 
and rendered her speechless; 




Till at length she exclaimed, interrupting the 

ominous silence : 
"If the great Captain of Plymouth is so very 

eager to wed me, 
Why does he not come himself, and take the 

trouble to woo me? 



40 THE COURTSHIP OV 

If I am not worth the wooing, I surely am not 
worth the winning!" 

Then John Alden began explaining and smooth- 
ing the matter, 

Making it worse as he went, by saying the Cap- 
tain was busy, — 

Had no time for such things; — such things! the 
words grating harshly 

Fell on the ear of Priscilla; and swift as a flash 
she made answer: 

"Has he no time for such things, as you call it, 
before he is married, 

Would he be likely to find it, or make it, after 
the wedding? 

That is the way with you men; you don't under- 
stand us, you cannot. 

When you have made up your minds, after think- 
ing of this one and that one, 

Choosing, selecting, rejecting, comparing one with 
another, 

Then you make known your desire, with abrupt 
and sudden avowal, 

And are offended and hurt, and indignant per- 
haps, that a woman 

Does not respond at once to a love that she never 
suspected, 



MILES STANDISH 41 

ti 

Does not attain at a bound the height to which 

you have been dimbing. 
This is not right nor just: for surely a woman's 

affection 
Is not a thing to be asked for, and had for only 

the asking. 
When one is truly in love, one not only says it, 

but shows it. 
Had he but waited awhile, had he only showed 

that he loved me, 
Even this Captain of yours — who knows ? — at last 

might have won me. 
Old and rough as he is ; but now it never can hap- 
pen." 

Still John Alden went on, unheeding the words 
of Priscilla, 

Urging the suit of his friend, explaining, persuad- 
ing, expanding; 

Spoke of his courage and skill, and of all his 
battles in Flanders, 

How with the people of God he had chosen to suf- 
fer affliction, 

How, in return for his zeal, they had made him 
Captain of Plymouth; 



42 THE COURTSHIP OF 

He was a gentleman born, could trace his pedigree 
plainly 

Back to Hugh Standish of Duxbury Hall, in Lan- 
cashire, England, 

Who was the son of Ralph, and the grandson of 
Thurston de Standish; 

Heir unto vast estates, of which he was basely de- 
frauded, 

Still bore the family arms, and had for his crest 
a cock argent 

Combed and wattled gules, and all the rest of the 
blazon. 

He was a man of honor, of noble and generous 
nature ; 

Though he was rough, he was kindly; she knew 
how during the winter 

He had attended the sick, with a hand as gentle as 
woman's ; 

Somewhat hasty and hot, he could not deny it, and 
headstrong. 

Stern as a soldier might be, but hearty, and plac- 
able always. 

Not to be laughed at and scorned, because he was 
little of stature; 

For he was great of heart, magnanimous, courtly, 
courageous ; 



MILES STANDISH 



43 



Any woman in Plymouth, nay, any woman in 
England, 




44 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Might be happy and proud to be called the wife of 
Miles Standish! 



But as he warmed and glowed, in his simple and 
eloquent language, 

Quite forgetful of self, and full of the praise of his 
rival. 

Archly the maiden smiled, and, with eyes overrun- 
ning with laughter, 

Said, in a tremulous voice, "Why don't you speak 
for yourself, John?" , 




o 
s 
o 
w 

< 






MILES STANDISH 45 

IV. 
JOHN ALDEN. 

Into the open air John Alden, perplexed and be- 
wildered, 

Rushed like a man insane, and wandered alone by 
the seaside; 

Paced up and down the sands, and bared his head 
to the east wind, 

CooHng his heated brow, and the fire and fever 
within him. 

Slowly as out of the heavens, with apocalyptical 
splendors, 

Sank the City of God, in the vision of John the 
Apostle, 

So, with its cloudy walls of chrysolite, jasper, and 
sapphire. 

Sank the broad red sun, and over its turrets up- 
lifted 

Glimmered the golden reed of the angel who meas- 
ured the city. 

4- 



46 THE COURTSHIP OF 

"Welcome, O wind of the East!" he exclaimed 

in his wild exultation, 
"Welcome, O wind of the East, from the caves of 

the misty Atlantic! 
Blowing o'er fields of dulse, and measureless 

meadow^s of sea grass, 
Blowing o'er rocky wastes, and the grottos and 

gardens of ocean! 
Lay thy cold, moist hand on my burning forehead, 

and wrap me 
Close in thy garments of mist, to allay the fever 

within me!" 



Like an awakened conscience, the sea was moan- 
ing and tossing. 

Beating remorseful and loud the mutable sands of 
the sea shore. 

Fierce in his soul was the struggle and tumult of 
passions contending; 

Love triumphant and crowned, and friendship 
wounded and bleeding, 

Passionate cries of desire, and importunate plead- 
ings of duty! 

"Is it my fault," he said, "that the maiden has 
chosen between us? 



MILES STANDISH 47 

Is it my fault that he failed, — my fault that I am 

the victor?" 
Then within him there thundered a voice, like the 

voice of the Prophet: 
*Tt hath displeased the Lord!" — and he thought of 

David's transgression, 
Bathsheba's beautiful face, and his friend in the 

front of the battle ! 
Shame and confusion of guilt, and abasement and 

self-condemnation, 
Overwhelmed him at once; and he cried in the 

deepest contrition : 
'Tt hath displeased the Lord ! It is the temptation 

of Satan!" 



Then, uplifting his head, he looked at the sea, 

and beheld there 
Dimly the shadowy form of the Mayflower riding 

at anchor, 
Rocked on the rising tide, and ready to sail on the 

morrow; 
Heard the voices of men through the mist, the 

rattle of cordage 
Thrown on the deck, the shouts of the mate, and 

the sailors' ''Ay, ay, Sir!" 



48 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Clear and distinct, but not loud, in the dripping 

air of the twilight. 
Still for a moment he stood, and listened, and 

stared at the vessel. 
Then went hurriedly on, as one who, seeing a 

phantom, 
Stops, then quickens his pace, and follows the 

beckoning shadow. 
"Yes, it is plain to me now," he murmured; '*the 

hand of the Lord is 
Leading me out of the land of darkness, the bond- 
age of error. 
Through the sea, that shall lift the walls of its 

waters around me. 
Hiding me, cutting me off, from the cruel thoughts 

that pursue me. 
Back will I go o'er the ocean, this dreary land will 

abandon, 
Her whom I may not love, and him whom my 

heart has offended. 
Better to be in my grave in the green old church- 
yard in England, 
Close by my mother's side, and among the dust of 

my kindred ; 
Better be dead and forgotten, than living in shame 

and dishonor! 



MILES STANDISH 



49 



Sacred and safe and unseen, in the dark of the 

narrow chamber 
With me my secret shall lie, like a buried jewel 

that glimmers 




[Bright on the hand that is dust, in the chambers 

of silence and darkness, — 
Yes, as the marriage ring of the great espousal 

hereafter !" 



50 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Thus as he spake, he turned, in the strength of 

his strong resolution. 
Leaving behind him the shore, and hurried along 

in the twilight, 
Through the congenial gloom of the forest silent 

and sombre, 
Till he beheld the lights in the seven houses of 

Plymouth, 
Shining like seven stars in the dusk and mist of 

the evening. 
Soon he entered his door, and found the redoubt- 
able Captain 
Sitting alone, and absorbed in the martial pages of 

C?esar, 
Fighting some great campaign in Hainault or 

Brabant or Flanders. 
"Long have you been on your errand," he said 

with a cheery demeanor, 
Even as one who is waiting an answer, and fears 

not the issue. 
"Not far off is the house, although the woods are 

between us; 
But you have lingered so long, that while you 

were going and coming 
I have fought ten battles and sacked and demol- 
ished a city. 



MILES STANDISH 51 

Come, sit down, and in order relate to me all that 
has happened." 

.*. 

Then John Alden spake, and related the won- 
drous adventure. 

From beginning to end, minutely, just as it hap- 
pened : 

How he had seen Priscilla, and how he had sped 
in his courtship. 

Only smoothing a little, and softening down her 
refusal. 

But when he came at length to the words Priscilla 
had spoken. 

Words so tender and cruel : ''Why don't you speak 
for yourself, John?" 

Up leaped the Captain of Plymouth, and stamped 
on the floor, till his armor 

Clanged on the wall, where it hung, with a sound 
of sinister omen. 

All his pent-up wrath burst forth in a sudden ex- 
plosion, 

Even as a hand-grenade, that scatters destruction 
around it. 

Wildly he shouted, and loud: "J^^n Alden! you 
have betrayed me! 



52 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Me, Miles Standish, your friend ! have supplanted, 

defrauded, betrayed me! 
One of my ancestors ran his sword through the 

heart of Wat Tyler; 
Who shall prevent me from running my own 

through the heart of a traitor? 
Yours is the greater treason, for yours is a treason 

to friendship! 
You, who lived under my roof, whom I cherished 

and loved as a brother ; 
You, who have fed at my board, and drunk at my 

cup, to whose keeping 
I have intrusted my honor, my thoughts the most 

sacred and secret, — 
You too, Brutus! ah woe to the name of friend- 
ship hereafter! 
Brutus was Caesar's friend, and you were mine, 

but henceforward 
Let there be nothing between us save war, and 

implacable hatred!" 



So spake the Captain of Plymouth, and strode 
about in the chamber. 
Chafing and choking with rage; like cords were 
the veins on his temples. 



MILES STANDISH 53 

But in the midst of his anger a man appeared at 

the doorway, 
Bringing in uttermost haste a message of urgent 

importance, 
Rumors of danger and war and hostile incursions 

of Indians! 
Straightway the Captain paused, and, without 

further question or parley. 
Took from the nail on the wall his sword with its 

scabbard of iron, 
Buckled the belt round his waist, and, frowning 

fiercely, departed. 
Alden was left alone. He heard the clank of the 

scabbard 
Growing fainter and fainter, and dying away in 

the distance. 
Then he arose from his seat, and looked forth into 

the darkness. 
Felt the cool air blow on his cheek, that was hot 

with the insult, 
Lifted his eyes to the heavens, and, folding his 

hands as in childhood. 
Prayed in the silence of night to the Father who 

seeth in secret. 



54 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Meanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful 
away to the council, 

Found it already assembled, impatiently waiting 
his coming; 

Men in the middle of life, austere and grave in de- 
portment. 

Only one of them old, the hill that was nearest to 
heaven, 

Covered with snow, but erect, the excellent Elder 
of Plymouth. 

God had sifted three kingdoms to find the wheat 
for this planting, 

Then had sifted the wheat, as the living seed of a 
nation ; 

So say the chronicles old, and such is the faith of 
the people ! 

Near them was standing an Indian, in attitude 
stern and defiant, 

Naked down to the waist, and grim and fero- 
cious in aspect; 

While on the table before them was lying un- 
opened a Bible, 

Ponderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed 
in Holland, 

And beside it, outstretched, the skin of a rattle- 
snake glittered, 



MILES STANDISH 



55 



Filled, like a quiver, with arrows; a signal and 

challenge of warfare. 
Brought by the Indian, and speaking with arrowy 

tongues of defiance. 
This Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and 

heard them debating 



^.i.jx.L.^-i'ii-L;: »-tu.«,; 




What were an answer befitting the hostile mes- 
sage and menace. 

Talking of this and of that, contriving, suggest- 
ing, objecting; 

One voice only for peace, and that the voice of the 
Elder, 



56 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Judging it wise and well that some at least were 

converted, 
Rather than any were slain, for this was but Chris- 
tian behavior! 
Then outspake Miles Standish, the stalwart Cap- 
tain of Plymouth, 
Muttering deep in his throat, for his voice was 

husky with anger, 
"What ! do you mean to make war with milk and 

the water of roses? 
Is it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer 

planted 
There on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot 

red devils? 
Truly the only tongue that is understood by a 

savage 
Must be the tongue of fire that speaks from the 

mouth of the cannon !'' 
Thereupon answered and said the excellent Elder 

of Plymouth, 
Somewhat amazed and alarmed at this irreverent 

language : 
"Not so thought Saint Paul, nor yet the other 

Apostles ; 
Not from the cannon's mouth were the tongues of 

fire they spake with !" 



MILES STANDISH 57 

But unheeded fell this mild rebuke on the Captain, 

Who had advanced to the table, and thus contin- 
ued discoursing: 

"Leave this matter to me, for to me by right it 
pertaineth. 

War is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is 
righteous, 

Sweet is the smell of powder ; and thus I answer 
the challenge!" 

Then from the rattlesnake's skin, with a sudden, 

contemptuous gesture, 
Jerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder 

and bullets 
Full to the very jaws, and handed it back to the 

savage, 
Saying, in thundering tones : ''Here, take it ! this 

is your answer!" 
Silently out of the room then glided the glistening 

savage, 
Bearing the serpent's skin, and seeming himself 

like a serpent. 
Winding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths 

of the forest. 



58 



THE COURTSHIP OF 







V. 



THE SAILING OF THE MAYFLOWER. 



Just in the gray of the dawn, as the mists uprose 
from the meadows, 

There was a stir and a sound in the slumbering 
village of Plymouth; 

Clanging and clicking of arms, and the order im- 
perative, ''Forward!" 



MILES STANDISH 59 

Given in tone suppressed, a tramp of feet, and then 

silence. 
Figures ten, in the mist, marched slowly out of 

the village. 
Standish the stalwart it was, with eight of his 

valorous army, 
Led by their Indian guide, by Hobomok, friend of 

the white men, 
Northward marching to quell the sudden revolt of 

the savage. 
Giants they seemed in the mist, or the mighty men 

of King David; 
Giants in heart they were, who believed in God 

and the Bible, — 
Ay, who believed in the smiting of Midianites and 

Philistines. 
Over them gleamed far off the crimson banners 

of morning; 
Under them loud on the sands, the serried billows, 

advancing. 
Fired along the line, and in regular order re- 
treated. 

Many a mile had they marched, when at length 
the village of Plymouth 



6o THE COURTSHIP OF 

Woke from its sleep, and arose, intent on its mani- 
fold labors. 
Sweet was the air and soft ; and slowly the smoke 

from the chimneys 
Rose over roofs of thatch, and pointed steadily 

eastward ; 
Men came forth from the doors, and paused and 

talked of the weather. 
Said that the wind had changed, and was blowing 

fair for the Mayflower; 
Talked of their Captain's departure, and all the 

dangers that menaced. 
He being gone, the town, and what should be done 

in his absence. 
Merrily sang the birds, and the tender voices of 

women 
Consecrated with hymns the common cares of the 

household. 
Out of the sea rose the sun, and the billows re- 
joiced at his coming; 
Beautiful were his feet on the purple tops of the 

mountains ; 
Beautiful on the sails of the Mayflower riding at 

anchor. 
Battered and blackened and worn by all the storms 

of the winter. 



MILES STANDISH 6i 

Loosely against her masts was hanging and flap- 
ping her canvas, 
Rent by so many gales, and patched by the hands 

of the sailors. 
Suddenly from her side, as the sun rose over the 

ocean. 
Darted a puff of smoke, and floated seaward ; anon 

rang 
Loud over field and forest the cannon's roar, and 

the echoes 
Heard and repeated the sound, the signal-gun of 

departure ! 
Ah! but with louder echoes replied the hearts of 

the people ! 
Meekly, in voices subdued, the chapter was read 

from the Bible, 
Meekly the prayer was begun, but ended in fer- 
vent entreaty! 
Then from their houses in haste came forth the 

Pilgrims of Plymouth, 
Men and women and children, all hurrying down 

to the sea-shore. 
Eager, with tearful eyes, to say farewell to the 

Mayflower, 
Homeward bound o'er the sea, and leaving them 

here in the desert. 



62 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Foremost among them was Alden. All night 

he had lain without slumber, 
Turning and tossing about in the heat and unrest 

of his fever. 
He had beheld Miles Standish, who came back 

late from the council, 
Stalking into the room, and heard him mutter and 

murmur, 
Sometimes it seemed a prayer, and sometimes it 

sounded like swearing. 
Once he had come to the bed, and stood there a 

moment in silence; 
Then he had turned away, and said: *T will not 

awake him; 
Let him sleep on, it is best ; for what is the use of 

more talking!" 
Then he extinguished the light, and threw himself 

down on his pallet, 
Dressed as he was, and ready to start at the break 

of the morning, — 
Covered himself with the cloak he had worn in his 

campaigns in Flanders, — 
Slept as a soldier sleeps in his bivouac, ready for 

action. 
But with the dawn he arose ; in the twilight Alden 

beheld him 



MILES STANDISH 63 

Put on his corslet of steel, and all the rest of his 
armor, 

Buckle about his waist his trusty blade of Damas- 
cus, 

Take from the corner his musket, and so strode out 
of the chamber. 

Often the heart of the youth had burned and 
yearned to embrace him, 

Often his lips had essayed to speak, imploring for 
pardon ; 

All the old friendship came back, with its tender 
and grateful emotions; 

But his pride overmastered the nobler nature with- 
in him, — 

Pride, and the sense of his wrong, and the burn- 
ing fire of the insult. 

So he beheld his friend departing in anger, but 
spake not, 

Saw him go forth to danger, perhaps to death, and 
he spake not! 

Then he arose from his bed, and heard what the 
people were saying, 

Joined in the talk at the door, with Stephen and 
Richard and Gilbert, 

Joined in the morning prayer, and in the reading 
of Scripture, 



64 THE COURTSHIP OF 

And, with the others, in haste went hurrying down 

to the sea-shore, 
Down to the Plymouth Rock, that had been to 

their feet as a door-step 
Into a world unknown, — the cornerstone of a 

nation ! 
There with his boat was the Master, already a 

little impatient 
Lest he should lose the tide, or the wind might 

shift to the eastward. 
Square-built, hearty, and strong, with an odor of 

ocean about him. 
Speaking with this one and that, and cramming 

letters and parcels 
Into his pockets capacious, and messages mingled 

together 
Into his narrow brain, till at last he was wholly 

bewildered. 
Nearer the boat stood Alden, with one foot placed 

on the gunwale. 
One still firm on the rock, and talking at times 

with the sailors. 
Seated erect on the thwarts, all ready and eager 

for starting. 
He too was eager to go, and thus put an end to 

his anguish, 



MILES STANDISH 



65 



Thinking to fly from despair, that swifter than 

keel is or canvas, 
Thinking to drown in the sea the ghost that would 

rise and pursue him. 




But as he gazed on the crowd, he beheld the form 

of Priscilla 
Standing dejected among them, unconscious of all 

that was passing. 
Fixed were her eyes upon his, as if she divined his 

intention, 



66 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Fixed with a look so sad, so reproachful, implor- 
ing, and patient. 

That with a sudden revulsion his heart recoiled 
from its purpose. 

As from the verge of a crag, where one step more 
is destruction. 

Strange is the heart of man, with its quick, mys- 
terious instincts ! 

Strange is the life of man, and fatal or fated are 
moments, 

Whereupon turn, as on hinges, the gates of the 
wall adamantine! 

"Here I remain!" he exclaimed, as he looked at 
the heavens above him. 

Thanking the Lord whose breath had scattered the 
mist and the madness. 

Wherein, blind and lost, to death he was stagger- 
ing headlong. 

"Yonder snow-white cloud, that floats in the ether 
above me. 

Seems like a hand that is pointing and beckoning 
over the ocean. 

There is another hand, that is not so spectral and 
ghost-like. 

Holding me, drawing me back, and clasping mine 
for protection. 



MILES STANDISH ^y 

Float, O hand of cloud, and vanish away in the 

ether ! 
Roll thyself up like a fist, to threaten and daunt 

me; I heed not 
Either your warning or menace, or any omen of 

evil! 
There is no land so sacred, no air so pure and so 

wholesome. 
As is the air she breathes, and the soil that is 

pressed by her footsteps. 
Here for her sake will I stay, and like an invisible 

presence 
Hover around her for ever, protecting, support- 
ing her weakness ; 
Yes ! as my foot was the first that stepped on this 

rock at the landing, 
So, with the blessing of God, shall it be the last at 

the leaving!" 

Meanwhile the Master alert, but with dignified 

air and important. 
Scanning with watchful eye the tide and the wind 

and the weather. 
Walked about on the sands; and the people 

crowded around him 



68 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Saying a few last words, and enforcing his care- 
ful remembrance. 
Then, taking each by the hand, as if he were 

grasping a tiller, 
Into the boat he sprang, and in haste shoved off 

to his vessel, 
Glad in his heart to get rid of all this worry and 

flurry, 
Glad to be gone from a land of sand and sickness 

and sorrow, 
Short allowance of victual, and plenty of nothing 

but Gospel! 
Lost in the sound of the oars was the last farewell 

of the Pilgrims. 
O strong hearts and true ! not one went back in the 

Mayflower ! 
No, not one looked back, who had set his hand to 

this ploughing! 

4. 

Soon were heard on board the shouts and songs 

of the sailors 
Heaving the windlass round, and hoisting the 

ponderous anchor. 
Then the yards were braced, and all sails set to the 

west wind. 



MILES STANDISH 69 

Blowing steady and strong; and the Mayflower 

sailed from the harbor, 
Rounded the point of the Gurnet, and leaving far 

to the southward 
Island and cape of sand, and the Field of the First 

Encounter, 
Took the wind on her quarter, and stood for the 

open Atlantic, 
Borne on the send of the sea, and the swelling 

hearts of the Pilgrims. 

Long in silence they watched the receding sail 

of the vessel. 
Much endeared to them all, as something living 

and human; 
Then, as if filled with the spirit, and wrapt in a 

vision prophetic. 
Baring his hoary head, the excellent Elder of 

Plymouth 
Said, *'Let us pray!" and they prayed, and 

thanked the Lord and took courage. 
Mournfully sobbed the waves at the base of the 

rock, and above them 
Bowed and whispered the wheat on the hill of 

death, and their kindred 



70 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Seemed to awake in their graves, and to join in 

the prayer that they uttered. 
Sun-illumined and white, on the eastern verge of 

the ocean 
Gleamed the departing sail, like a marble slab in 

a graveyard; 
Buried beneath it lay for ever all hope of escaping. 
Lo ! as they turned to depart, they saw the form of 

an Indian, 
Watching them from the hill ; but while they spake 

with each other, 
Pointing with outstretched hands, and saying, 

"Look !" he had vanished. 
So they returned to their homes; but Alden lin- 
gered a little, 
Musing alone on the shore, and watching the wash 

of the billows 
Round the base of the rock, and the sparkle and 

flash of the sunshine. 
Like the spirit of God, moving visibly over the 

waters. 



MILES STANDISH 71 

VI. 
PRISCILLA. 

Thus for a while he stood, and mused by the 

shore of the ocean, 
Thinking of many things, and most of all of Pris- 

cilla ; 
And as if thought had the power to draw to itself, 

like the loadstone. 
Whatsoever it touches, by subtile laws of its 

nature, 
Lo ! as he turned to depart, Priscilla was standing 

beside him. 

"Are you so much offended, you will not speak 
to me?" said she. 

"Am I so much to blame, that yesterday, when 
you were pleading 

Warmly the cause of another, my heart, impul- 
sive and wayward. 

Pleaded your own, and spake out, forgetful per- 
haps of decorum? 



^2 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Certainly you can forgive me for speaking so 
frankly, for saying 

What I ought not to have said, yet now I can 
never unsay it; 

For there are moments in life, when the heart is 
so full of emotion, 

That if by chance it be shaken, or into its depths 
like a pebble 

Drops some careless word, it overflows, and its 
secret, 

Spilt on the ground like water, can never be 
gathered together. 

Yesterday I was shocked, when I heard you 
speak of Miles Standish, 

Praising his virtues, transforming his very de- 
fects into virtues. 

Praising his courage and strength, and even his 
fighting in Flanders, 

As if by fighting alone you could win the heart of 
a woman, 

Quite overlooking yourself and the rest, in exalt- 
ing your hero. 

Therefore I spake as I did, by an irresistible im- 
pulse. 

You will forgive me, I hope, for the sake of the 
friendship between us, 



MILES STANDISH 



7Z 



Which is too true and too sacred to be so easily 

broken!" 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the scholar, the 

friend of Miles Standish : 




"I was not angry with you, with myself alone I 

was angry, 
Seeing how badly I managed the matter I had in 

my keeping/- 



74 THE COURTSHIP OF 

"No!" interrupted the maiden, with answer 

prompt and decisive; 
"No; you were angry with me, for speaking so 

frankly and freely. 
It was wrong, I acknowledge; for it is the fate 

of a woman 
Long to be patient and silent, to wait like a ghost 

that is speechless, 
Till some questioning voice dissolves the spell of 

its silence. 
Hence is the inner life of so many suffering 

women 
Sunless and silent and deep, like subterranean 

rivers 
Running through caverns of darkness, unheard, 

unseen, and unfruitful. 
Chafing their channels of stone, with endless and 

profitless murmurs." 
Thereupon answered John Alden, the young man, 

the lover of women : 
"Heaven forbid it, Priscilla; and truly they seem 

to me always 
More like the beautiful rivers that watered the 

garden of Eden, 
More like the river Euphrates, through deserts of 

Havilah flowing, 



MILES STANDISH 75 

Filling the land with delight, and memories sweet 

of the garden!" 
"Ah, by these words, I can see," again interrupted 

the maiden, 
"How very little you prize me, or care for what 

I am saying. 
When from the depths of my heart, in pain and 

with secret misgiving, 
Frankly I speak to you, asking for sympathy only 

and kindness, 
Straightway you take up my words, that are plain 

and direct and in earnest, 
Turn them away from their meaning, and answer 

with flattering phrases. 
This is not right, is not just, is not true to the 

best that is in you; 
For I know and esteem you, and feel that your 

nature is noble. 
Lifting mine up to a higher, a more ethereal 

level. 
Therefore I value your friendship, and feel it 

perhaps the more keenly 
If you say aught that implies I am only as one 

among many, 
If you make use of those common and compli- 
mentary phrases 



ye THE COURTSHIP OF 

Most men think so fine, in dealing and speaking 
with women, 

But which women reject as insipid, if not as in- 
sulting." 

Mute and amazed was Alden; and listened and 
looked at Priscilla, 

Thinking he never had seen her more fair, more 
divine in her beauty. 

He who but yesterday pleaded so glibly the cause 
of another. 

Stood there embarrassed and silent, and seeking 
in vain for an answer. 

So the maiden went on, and little divined or 
imagined 

What was at work in his heart, that made him so 
awkward and speechless. 

"Let us, then, be what we are, and speak what we 
think, and in all things 

Keep ourselves loyal to truth, and the sacred pro- 
fessions of friendship. 

It is no secret I tell you, nor am I ashamed to de- 
clare it: 

I have liked to be with you, to see you, to speak 
with you always. 




^ 



C 



(fi 



MILES STANDISH 77 

So I was hurt at your words, and a little affronted 

to hear you 
Urge me to marry your friend, though he were 

the Captain Miles Standish. 
For I must tell you the truth : much more to me is 

your friendship 
Than all the love he could give, were he twice 

the hero you think him." 
Then she extended her hand, and Alden, who 

eagerly grasped it. 
Felt all the wounds in his heart, that were aching 

and bleeding so sorely, 
Healed by the touch of that hand, and he said 

with a voice full of feeling: 
"Yes, we must ever be friends; and of all who 

offer you friendship 
Let me be ever the first, the truest, the nearest and 

dearest !" 



Casting a farewell look at the glimmering sail 

of the Mayflower, 
Distant, but still in sight, and sinking below the 

horizon. 
Homeward together they walked, with a strange, 

indefinite feeling. 



78 THE COURTSHIP OF 

That all the rest had departed and left them alone 
in the desert. 

But, as they went through the fields in the bless- 
ing and smile of the sunshine, 

Lighter grew their hearts, and Priscilla said very 
archly : 

"Now that our terrible Captain has gone in pur- 
suit of the Indians, 

Where he is happier far than he would be com- 
manding a household. 

You may speak boldly, and tell me of all that hap- 
pened between you. 

When you returned last night, and said how un- 
grateful you found me." 

Thereupon answered John Alden, and told her the 
whole of the story, — 

Told her his own despair, and the direful wrath 
of Miles Standish. 

Whereat the maiden smiled, and said between 
laughing and earnest, 

"He is a little chimney, and heated hot in a 
moment !" 

But as he gently rebuked her, and told her how 
much he had suffered, — 

How he had even determined to sail that day in 
the Mayflower, 



MILES STANDISH 79 

And had remained for her sake, on hearing the 

dangers that threatened, — 
All her manner was changed, and she said with a 

faltering accent, 
"Truly I thank you for this : how good you have 

been to me always!" 



Thus, as a pilgrim devout, who toward Jeru- 
salem journeys. 

Taking three steps in advance, and one reluctantly 
backward, 

Urged by importunate zeal, and withheld by 
pangs of contrition ; 

Slowly but steadily onward, receding yet ever ad- 
vancing, 

Journeyed this Puritan youth to the Holy Land 
of his longings. 

Urged by the fervor of love, and withheld by re- 
morseful misgivings. 



8o THE COURTSHIP OF 

VII. 

THE MARCH OF MILES STANDISH. 

Meanwhile the stalwart Miles Standish was 

marching steadily northward, 
Winding through forest and swamp, and along 

the trend of the sea-shore, 
All day long, with hardly a halt, the fire of his 

anger 
Burning and crackling within, and the sulphurous 

odor of powder 
Seeming more sweet to his nostrils than all the 

scents of the forest. 
Silent and moody he went, and much he re- 
volved his discomfort; 
He who was used to success, and to easy victories 

always, 
Thus to be flouted, rejected, and laughed to scorn 

by a maiden, 
Thus to be mocked and betrayed by the friend 

whom most he had trusted! 
Ah! 't was too much to be borne, and he fretted 

and chafed in his armor! 



MILES STANDISH 8i 

"I alone am to blame," he muttered, ''for mine 

was the folly. 
What has a rough old soldier, grown grim and 

gray in the harness, 
Used to the camp and its ways, to do with the 

wooing of maidens? 
'T was but a dream, — let it pass, — let it vanish 

like so many others! 
What I thought was a flower, is only a weed, and 

is worthless; 
Out of my heart will I pluck it, and throw it 

away, and henceforward 
Be but a fighter of battles, a lover and wooer of 

dangers !" 
Thus he revolved in his mind his sorry defeat and 

discomfort. 
While he was marching by day or lying at night 

in the forest, 
Looking up at the trees, and the constellations be- 
yond them. 

After a three days' march he came to an In- 
dian encampment 
Pitched on the edge of a meadow, between the 
sea and the forest; 



82 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Women at work by the tents, and the warriors, 

horrid with war paint. 
Seated about a fire, and smoking and talking to- 
gether ; 
Who, when they saw from afar the sudden ap- 
proach of the white men. 
Saw the flash of the sun on breastnlate and sabre 

and musket, 
Straightway leaped to their feet, and two, from 

among them advancing. 
Came to parley with Standish, and offer him furs 

as a present; 
Friendship was in their looks, but in their hearts 

there was hatred. 
Braves of the tribe were these, and brothers 

gigantic in stature, 
Huge as Goliath of Gath, or the terrible Og, king 

of Bashan; 
One was Pecksuot named, and the other was 

called Wattawamat. 
Round their necks were suspended their knives in 

scabbards of wampum, 
Two-edged, trenchant knives, with points as sharp 

as a needle. 
Other arms had they none, for they were cunning 

and crafty. 



MILES STANDISH 83 

"Welcome, English!'* they said, — these words 

they had learned from the traders 
Touching at times on the coast, to barter and chaf- 
fer for peltries. 
Then in their native tongue they began to parley 

with Standish, 
Through his guide and interpreter, Hobomok, 

friend of the white man. 
Begging for blankets and knives, but mostly for 

muskets and powder. 
Kept by the white man, they said, concealed, with 

the plague, in his cellars, 
Ready to be let loose, and destroy his brother 

the red man! 
But when Standish refused, and said he would 

give them the Bible, 
Suddenly changing their tone, they began to boast 

and to bluster. 
Then Wattawamat advanced with a stride in front 

of the other, 
And, with a lofty demeanor, thus vauntingly 

spake to the Captain : 
"Now Wattawamat can see, by the fiery eyes of 

the Captain, 
Angry is he in his heart; but the heart of the 

brave Wattawamat 



84 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Is not afraid at the sight. He was not born of a 

woman, 
But on a mountain, at night, from an oak-tree 

riven by Hghtning, 
Forth he sprang at a bound, with all his weapons 

about him, 
Shouting, *Who is there here to fight with the 

brave Wattawamat ?' " 
Then he unsheathed his knife, and, whetting the 

blade on his left hand, 
Held it aloft and displayed a woman^s face on the 

handle, 
Saying, with bitter expression and look of sinister 

meaning : 
*T have another at home, with the face of a man 

on the handle ; 
By and by they shall marry; and there will be 

plenty of children!" 



Then stood Pecksuot forth, self-vaunting, in- 
sulting Miles Standish : 

While with his fingers he patted the knife that 
hung at his bosom. 

Drawing it half from its sheath, and plunging it 
back, as he muttered, 



MILES STANDISH 



85 



"By and by it shall see; it shall eat; ah, ha! but 
shall speak not! 




86 THE COURTSHIP OF 

This the mighty Captain the white men have sent 

to destroy us! 
He is a little man; let him go and work with the 

women !'* 

Meanwhile Standish had noted the faces and 

figures of Indians 
Peeping and creeping about from bush to tree in 

the forest, 
Feigning to look for game, with arrows set on 

their bow-strings. 
Drawing about him still closer and closer the net 

of their ambush. 
But undaunted he stood, and dissembled and 

treated them smoothly; 
So the old chronicles say, that were writ in the 

days of the fathers. 
But when he heard their defiance, the boast, the 

taunt, and the insult. 
All the hot blood of his race, of Sir Hugh and of 

Thurston de Standish, 
Boiled and beat in his heart, and swelled in the 

veins of his temples. 
Headlong he leaped on the boaster, and, snatching 

his knife from its scabbard, 



MILES STANDISH 87 

Plunged it into his heart, and, reeling backward, 

the savage 
Fell with his face to the sky, and a fiendlike fierce- 
ness upon it. 
Straight there arose from the forest the awful 

sound of the war-whoop, 
And, like a flurry of snow on the whistling wind 

of December, 
Swift and sudden and keen came a flight of 

feathery arrows. 
Then came a cloud of smoke, and out of the cloud 

came the lightning, 
Out of the lightning thunder; and death unseen 

ran before it. 
Frightened the savages fled for shelter in swamp 

and in thicket. 
Hotly pursued and beset; but their sachem, the 

brave Wattawamat, 
Fled not; he was dead. Unswerving and swift 

had a bullet 
Passed through his brain, and he fell with both 

hands clutching the greensward. 
Seeming in death to hold back from his foe the 

land of his fathers. 



88 THE COURTSHIP OF 

There on the flowers of the meadow the war- 
riors lay, and above them, 

Silent, with folded arms, stood Hobomok, friend 
of the white man. 

Smiling at length he exclaimed to the stalwart 
Captain of Plymouth : 

*Tecksuot bragged very loud, of his courage, his 
strength, and his stature, — 

Mocked the great Captain, and called him a little 
man; but I see now 

Big enough have you been to lay him speechless 
before you!'* 

Thus the first battle was fought and won by the 
stalwart Miles Standish. 

When the tidings thereof were brought to the vil- 
lage of Plymouth, 

And as a trophy of war the head of the brave 
Wattawamat 

Scowled from the roof of the fort, which at once 
was a church and a fortress. 

All who beheld it rejoiced, and praised the Lord, 
and took courage. 

Only Priscilla averted her face from this spectre 
of terror, 



MILES STANDISH 



89 



Thanking God in her heart that she had not mar- 
ried Miles Standish; 

Shrinking, fearing almost, lest, coming home 
from his battles, 

He should lay claim to her hand, as the prize and 
reward of his valor. 




^5^l5t 



^^^^•-;^-^J^ 



90 THE COURTSHIP OF 

VIII. 
THE SPINNING-WHEEL. 

Month after month passed away, and in Autumn 

the ships of the merchants 
Came with kindred and friends, with cattle and 

corn for the Pilgrims. 
All in the village was peace; the men were intent 

on their labors. 
Busy with hewing and building, with garden- 
plot and with merestead. 
Busy with breaking the glebe, and mowing the 

grass in the meadows. 
Searching the sea for its fish, and hunting the 

deer in the forest. 
All in the village was peace; but at times the 

rumor of warfare 
Filled the air with alarm, and the apprehension 

of danger. 
Bravely the stalwart Miles Standish was scouring 

the land with his forces. 
Waxing valiant in fight and defeating the alien 

armies. 



MILES STANDISH 91 

Till his name had become a sound of fear to the 
nations. 

Anger was still in his heart, but at times the re- 
morse and contrition 

Which in all noble natures succeed the passionate 
outbreak, 

Came like a rising tide, that encounters the rush 
of a river. 

Staying its current awhile, but making it bitter 
and brackish. 



Meanwhile Alden at home had built him a new 

habitation, 
Solid, substantial, of timber rough-hewn from the 

firs of the forest. 
Wooden-barred was the door, and the roof was 

covered with rushes ; 
Latticed the windows were, and the window- 
panes were of paper. 
Oiled to admit the light, while wind and rain were 

excluded. 
There too he dug a well, and around it planted 

an orchard: 
Still may be seen to this day some trace of the 

well and the orchard. 



92 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Close to the house was the stall, where, safe and 

secure from annoyance, 
Raghorn, the snow-white steer, that had fallen to 

Alden's allotment 
In the division of cattle, might ruminate in the 

night-time 
Over the pastures he cropped, made fragrant by 

sweet pennyroyal. 

Oft when his labor was finished, with eager 

feet would the dreamer 
Follow the pathway that ran through the woods 

to the house of Priscilla, 
Led by illusions romantic and subtile deceptions 

of fancy. 
Pleasure disguised as duty, and love in the sem- 
blance of friendship. 
Ever of her he thought, when he fashioned the 

walls of his dwelling; 
Ever of her he thought, when he delved in the 

soil of his garden; 
Ever of her he thought, when he read in his Bible 

on Sunday 
Praise of the virtuous woman, as she is described 

in the Proverbs, — 



MILES STANDISH 93 

How the heart of her husband doth safely trust 
in her always, 

How all the days of her life she will do him 
good, and not evil, 

How she seeketh the wool and the flax and work- 
eth with gladness, 

How she layeth her hand to the spindle and hold- 
eth the distaff, 

How she is not afraid of the snow for herself or 
her household. 

Knowing her household are clothed with the scar- 
let cloth of her weaving! 



So as she sat at her wheel one afternoon in 
the Autumn, 

Alden, who opposite sat, and was watching her 
dexterous fingers. 

As if the thread she was spinning were that of his 
life and his fortune, 

After a pause in their talk, thus spake to the sound 
of the spindle. 

"Truly, Priscilla," he said, ''when I see you spin- 
ning and spinning, 

Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful 
of others. 



94 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly 

changed in a moment; 
You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the 

Beautiful Spinner." 
Here the light foot on the treadle grew swifter 

and swifter; the spindle 
Uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped 

short in her fingers; 
While the impetuous speaker, not heeding the 

mischief, continued : 
"You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the 

queen of Helvetia; 
She whose story I read at a stall in the streets of 

Southampton, 
Who, as she rode on her palfrey, o'er valley and 

meadow and mountain. 
Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed 

to her saddle. 
She was so thrifty and good, that her name passed 

into a proverb. 
So shall it be with your own, when the spinning- 
wheel shall no longer 
Hum in the house of the farmer, and fill its cham- 
bers with music. 
Then shall the mothers, reproving, relate how it 

was in their childhood, 



MILES STANDISH 



95 



Praising the good old times, and the days of Pris- 
cilla the spinner!" 




'-7^-^^^=^H^=^==: 



Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful 
Puritan maiden, 



96 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Pleased with the praise of her thrift from him 
whose praise was the sweetest, 

Drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of 
her spinning, 

Thus making answer, meanwhile, to the flatter- 
ing phrases of Alden : 

''Come, you must not be idle; if I am a pattern 
for housewives, 

Show yourself equally worthy of being the model 
of husbands. 

Hold this skein on your hands, while I wind it, 
ready for knitting; 

Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions 
have changed and the manners, 

Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old 
times of John Alden !" 

Thus, with a jest and a laugh, the skein on his 
hands she adjusted. 

He sitting awkwardly there, with his arms ex- 
tended before him. 

She standing graceful, erect, and winding the 
thread from his fingers. 

Sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of 
holding, 

Sometimes touching his hands, as she disen- 
tangled expertly 



MILES STANDISH 97 

Twist or knot in the yarn, unawares — for how 

could she help it? — 
Sending electrical thrills through every nerva in 

his body. 

Lo! in the midst of this scene, a breathless mes- 
senger entered. 
Bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from 

the village. 
Yes; Miles Standish was dead!— an Indian had 

brought them the tidings, — 
Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down in the front 

of the battle. 
Into an ambush beguiled, cut off with the whole 

of his forces; 
All the town would be burned, and all the people 

be murdered! 
Such were the tidings of evil that burst on the 

hearts of the hearers. 
Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face 

looking backward 
Still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted 

in horror; 
But John Alden, upstarting, as if the barb of the 

arrow 



98 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Piercing the heart of his friend had struck his 

own, and had sundered 
Once and for ever the bonds that held him bound 

as a captive, 
While with excess of sensation, the awful delight 

of his freedom, 
Mingled with pain and regret, unconscious of 

what he was doing, 
Clasped, almost with a groan, the motionless form 

of Priscilla, 
Pressing her close to his heart, as for ever his 

own, and exclaiming: 
*'Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man 

put them asunder!" 

Even as rivulets twain, from distant and sep- 
arate sources. 

Seeing each other afar, as they leap from the 
rocks, and pursuing 

Each one its devious path, but drawing nearer and 
nearer. 

Rush together at last, at their trysting-place in the 
forest ; 

So these lives that had run thus far in separate 
channels, 



MILES STANDISH 



99 



Coming in sight of each other, then swerving and 

flowing asunder, 
Parted by barriers strong, but drawing nearer and 

nearer. 
Rushed together at last, and one was lost in the 

other. 




lOO THE COURTSHIP OF 

IX. 

THE WEDDING-DAY. 

Forth from the curtain of clouds, from the tent 
of purple and scarlet, 

Issued the sun, the great High-Priest, in his gar- 
ments resplendent, 

Holiness unto the Lord, in letters of light, on his 
forehead. 

Round the hem of his robe the golden bells and 
pomegranates. 

Blessing the world he came, and the bars of vapor 
beneath him 

Gleamed like a grate of brass, and the sea at his 
feet was a laver! 



This was the wedding morn of Priscilla the 

Puritan maiden. 
Friends were assembled together; the Elder and 

Magistrate also 
Graced the scene with their presence, and stood 

like the Law and the Gospel, 



MILES STANDISH loi 

One with the sanction of earth and one with the 

blessing of heaven. 
Simple and brief was the wedding, as that of Ruth 

and of Boaz. 
Softly the youth and the maiden repeated the 

words of betrothal, 
Taking each other for husband and wife in the 

Magistrate's presence, 
After the Puritan way, and the laudable custom 

of Holland. 
Fervently then, and devoutly, the excellent Elder 

of Plymouth 
Prayed for the hearth and the home, that were 

founded that day in affection, 
Speaking of life and of death, and imploring 

divine benedictions. 



Lo! when the service was ended, a form ap- 
peared on the threshold. 

Clad in armor of steel, a sombre and sorrowful 
figure ! 

Why does the bridegroom start and stare at the 
strange apparition? 

Why does the bride turn pale, and hide her face 
on his shoulder? 



102 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Is it a phantom of air, — a bodiless, spectral illu- 
sion? 

Is it a ghost from the grave, that has come to for- 
bid the betrothal? 

Long had it stood there unseen, a guest unm- 
vited, unwelcomed; 

Over its clouded eyes there had passed at times 
an expression 

Softening the gloom and revealing the warm heart 
hidden beneath them, 

As when across the sky the driving rack of the 
rain-cloud 

Grows for a moment thin, and betrays the sun by 
its brightness. 

Once it had lifted its hand, and moved its lips, 
but was silent. 

As if an iron will has mastered the fleeting in- 
tention. 

But when were ended the troth and the prayer and 
the last benediction. 

Into the room it strode, and the people beheld with 
amazement 

Bodily there in his armor Miles Standish, the Cap- 
tain of Plymouth! 

Grasping the bridegroom's hand, he said with 
emotion, ^Torgive me! 



MILES STANDISH 



103 



I have been angry and hurt, — too long have I 
cherished the feeling; 




I have been cruel and hard, but now, thank God! 
it is ended. 



I04 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Mine is the same hot blood that leaped in the 
veins of Hugh Standish, 

Sensitive, swift to resent, but as swift in atoning 
for error. 

Never so much as now was Miles Standish the 
friend of John Alden/' 

Thereupon answered the bridegroom: "Let all be 
forgotten between us, — 

All save the dear, old friendship, and that shall 
grow older and dearer !" 

Then the Captain advanced, and, bowing, saluted 
Priscilla, 

Gravely, and after the manner of old-fashioned 
gentry in England, 

Something of camp and of court, of town and of 
country, commingled, 

Wishing her joy of her wedding, and loudly laud- 
ing her husband. 

Then he said with a smile : 'T should have remem- 
bered the adage, — 

If you would be well served, you must serve your- 
self; and moreover, 

No man can gather cherries in Kent at the season 
of Christmas!" 



MILES STANDISH 105 

Great was the people's amazement, and greater 
yet their rejoicing, 

Thus to behold once more the sun-burnt face of 
their Captain, 

Whom they had mourned as dead; and they 
gathered and crowded about him, 

Eager to see him and hear him, forgetful of bride 
and of bridegroom, 

Questioning, answering, laughing, and each in- 
terrupting the other, 

Till the good Captain declared, being quite over- 
powered and bewildered. 

He had rather by far break into an Indian en- 
campment. 

Than come again to a wedding to which he had 
not been invited. 



Meanwhile the bridegroom went forth and 

stood with the bride at the doorway. 
Breathing the perfumed air of that warm and 

beautiful morning. 
Touched with autumnal tints, but lonely and sad 

in the sunshine, 
Lay extended before them the land of toil and 

privation ; 



io6 THE COURTSHIP OF 

There were the graves of the dead, and the barren 

waste of the sea-shore. 
There the famihar fields, the groves of pine, and 

the meadows; 
But to their eyes transfigured, it seemed as the 

Garden of Eden, 
Filled with the presence of God, whose voice was 

the sound of the ocean. 



Soon was their vision disturbed by the noise 
and stir of departure, 

Friends coming forth from the house, and im- 
patient of longer delaying. 

Each with his plan for the day, and the work that 
was left uncompleted. 

Then from a stall near at hand, amid exclama- 
tions of wonder, 

Alden the thoughtful, the careful, so happy, so 
proud of Priscilla, 

Brought out his snow-white steer, obeying the 
hand of its master. 

Led by a cord that was tied to an iron ring in its 
nostrils. 

Covered with crimson cloth, and a cushion placed 
for a saddle. 



MILES STANDISH 



107 



She should not walk, he said, through the dust 
and heat of the noonday; 




io8 THE COURTSHIP OF 

Nay, she should ride like a queen, not plod along 
like a peasant. 

Somewhat alarmed at first, but reassured by the 
others, 

Placing her hand on the cushion, her foot in the 
hand of her husband, 

Gayly, with joyous laugh, Priscilla mounted her 
palfrey. 

"Nothing is wanting now," he said with a smile, 
"but the distaff; 

Then you would be in truth my queen, my beauti- 
ful Bertha!'' 



Onward the bridal procession now moved to 
their new habitation, 

Happy husband and wife, and friends conversing 
together. 

Pleasantly murmured the brook, as they crossed 
the ford in the forest, 

Pleased with the image that passed, like a dream 
of love through its bosom. 

Tremulous, floating in air, o'er the depths of the 
azure abysses. 

Down through the golden leaves the sun was pour- 
ing his splendors. 



MILES STANDISH 109 

Gleaming on purple grapes, that, from branches 

above them suspended. 
Mingled their odorous breath with the balm of 

the pine and the fir-tree, 
Wild and sweet as the clusters that grew in the 

valley of Eshcol. 
Like a picture it seemed of the primitive, pastoral 

ages, 
Fresh with the youth of the world, and recalling 

Rebecca and Isaac, 
Old and yet ever new, and simple and beautiful 

always, 
Love immortal and young in the endless succes- 
sion of lovers. 
So through the Plymouth woods passed onward 

the bridal procession. 



MISCELLANEOUS 



CARILLON. 

In the ancient town of Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city, 
As the evening shades descended. 
Low and loud and sweetly blended, 
Low at times and loud at times. 
And changing like a poet's rhymes. 
Rang the beautiful wild chimes 
From the Belfry in the market 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

Then, with deep sonorous clangor 
Calmly answering their sweet anger. 
When the wrangling bells had ended, 
Slowly struck the clock eleven. 
And, from out the silent heaven, 
Silence on the town descended. 
Silence, silence everywhere. 
On the earth and in the air. 
Save that footsteps here and there 
Of some burgher home returning. 
By the street lamps faintly burning. 
For a moment woke the echoes 
Of the ancient town of Bruges. 

But amid my broken slumbers 
Still I heard those magic numbers. 
As they loud proclaimed the flight 
And stolen marches of the night ; 
Till their chimes in sweet collision 
Mingled with each wandering vision, 
Mingled with the fortune-telling 
Gypsy-bands of dreams and fancies, 
Which amid the waste expanses 
Of the silent land of trances 
Have their soHtary dwellings; 
Of that quaint old Flemish city. 
All else seemed asleep in Bruges, 
In the quaint old Flemish city. 



114 CARILLON 

And I thought how Hke these chimes 
Are the poet's airy rhymes, 
All his rhymes and roundelays, 
His conceits, and songs, and ditties, 
From the belfry of his brain. 
Scattered downward, though in vain, 
On the roofs and stones of cities ! 
For by night the drowsy ear 
Under its curtains cannot hear, 
And by day men go their ways. 
Hearing the music as they pass, 
But deeming it no more, alas ! 
Than the hollow sound of brass. 

Yet perchance a sleepless wight, 

Lodging at some humble inn 

In the narrow lanes of life. 

When the dusk and hush of night 

Shut out the incessant din 

Of daylight and its toil and strife, 

May listen with a calm delight 

To the poet's melodies. 

Till he hears, or dreams he hears, 

Intermingled with the song. 

Thoughts that he has cherished long; 

Hears amid the chime and singing 

The bells of his own village ringing, 

And wakes, and finds his slumberous eyes 

Wet with most delicious tears. 

Thus dreamed I, as by night I lay 
In Bruges, at the Fleur-de-Ble, 
Listening with a wild delight 
To the chimes that, through the night, 
Rang their changes from the Belfry 
Of that quaint old Flemish city. 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES. 

In the market-place of Bruges stands the belfry 

old and brown ; 
Thrice consumed and thrice rebuilded, still it 

watches o'er the town. 

As the summer morn was breaking, on that lofty 

tower I stood, 
And the world threw off the darkness, like the 

weeds of widowhood. 

Thick with towns and hamlets studded, and with 

streams and vapors gray, 
Like a shield embossed with silver, round and vast 

the landscape lay. 

At my feet the city slumbered. From its chim- 
neys, here and there, 

Wreaths of snow-white smoke, ascending, van- 
ished, ghost-like, into air. 

Not a sound rose from the city at that early morn- 
ing hour. 

But I heard a heart of iron beating in the ancient 
tower. 

IIS 



ii6 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

From their nests beneath the rafters sang the 

swallows wild and high; 
And the world, beneath me sleeping, seemed more 

distant than the sky. 

Then most musical and solemn, bringing back the 

olden times, 
With their strange, unearthly changes rang the 

melancholy chimes. 

Like the psalms from some old cloister, when the 

nuns sing in their choir; 
And the great bell tolled among them, like the 

chanting of a friar. 

Visions of the days departed, shadowy phantoms 

filled my brain; 
They who live in history only seemed to walk the 

earth again; 

All the Foresters of Flanders,^ — mighty Baldwin 

Bras de Fer, 
Lyderick du Bucq and Cressy Philip, Guy de 

Dampierre. 

I beheld the pageants splendid that adorned those 
days of old ; 



THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 



117 



Stately dames, like queens attended, knights who 
bore the Fleece of Gold. 





ii8 THE BELFRY OF BRUGES 

Lombard and Venetian merchants with deep-laden 

argosies ; 
Ministers from twenty nations; more than royal 

pomp and ease. 

I beheld proud Maximilian, kneeling humbly on 

the ground; 
I beheld the gentle Mary, hunting with her hawk 

and hound; 

And her lighted bridal-chamber, where a duke 

slept with the queen, 
And the armed guard around them, and the sword 

unsheathed between. 

I beheld the Flemish weavers, with Namur and 

Juliers bold. 
Marching homeward from the bloody battle of 

the Spurs of Gold; 

Saw the fight at Minnewater, saw the White 

Hoods moving west, 
Saw great Artevelde victorious scale the Golden 

Dragon's nest. 

And again the whiskered Spaniard all the land 
with terror smote; 



SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE 1 19 

And again the wild alarum sounded from the toc- 
sin's throat; 

Till the bell of Ghent responded o'er lagoon and 

dike of sand, 
"I am Roland! I am Roland! there is victory 

in the land !" 

Then the sound of drums aroused me. The awak- 
ened city's roar 

Chased the phantoms I had summoned back into 
their graves once more. 

Hours had passed away like minutes; and, before 
I was aware, 

Lo! the shadow of the belfry crossed the sun- 
illumined square. 



SOMETHING LEFT UNDONE. 

Labor with what zeal we will. 
Something still remains undone, 

Something uncompleted still 
Waits the rising of the sun. 



I20 MAIDENHOOD 

By the bedside, on the stair, 
At the threshold, near the gates, 

With its menace or its prayer. 
Like a mendicant it waits; 

Waits, and will not go away; 

Waits, and will not be gainsaid; 
By the cares of yesterday 

Each to-day is heavier made; 

Till at length the burden seems 
Greater than our strength can bear, 

Heavy as the weight of dreams, 
Pressing on us everywhere. 

And we stand from day to day. 

Like the dwarfs of times gone by, 
Who, as Northern legends say. 

On their shoulders held the sky. 



MAIDENHOOD. 

Maiden! with the meek, brown eyes. 
In whose orbs a shadow lies 
Like the dusk in evening skies! 



MAIDENHOOD 



121 



Thou whose locks outshine the sun, 
Golden tresses, wreathed in one, 
As the braided streamlets run! 




122 MAIDENHOOD 

Standing, with reluctant feet, 
Where the brook and rivet meet, 
Womanhood and childhood fleet! 

Gazing, with a timid glance. 
On the brooklet's swift advance, 
On the river's broad expanse! 

D^ep and still, that gliding stream 
Beautiful to thee must seem, 
As the river of a dream. 

Then why pause with indecision, 
When bright angels in thy vision 
Beckon thee to fields Elysian? 

Seest thou shadows sailing by. 
As the dove, with startled eye. 
Sees the falcon's shadow fly? 

Hearest thou voices on the shore, 
That our ears perceive no more, 
Deafened by the cataract's roar! 

O, thou child of many prayers ! 

Life hath quicksands, — Life hath snares! 

Care and age come unawares! 



MAIDENHOOD 123 

Like the swell of some sweet tune, 
Morning rises into noon, 
May glides onward into June. 

Childhood is the bough, where slumbered 
Birds and blossoms many-numbered; — 
Age, the bough with snows encumbered. 

Gather, then, each flower that grows, 
When the young heart overflows. 
To embalm that tent of snows. 

Bear a lily in thy hand; 

Gates of brass cannot withstand 

One touch of that magic wand. 

Bear through sorrow, wrong and ruth. 
In thy heart the dew of youth. 
On thy lips the smile of truth. 

O, that dew, like balm, shall steal 
Into wounds that cannot heal. 
Even as sleep our eyes doth seal ; 

And that smile, like sunshine, dart 
Into many a sunless heart, 
For a smile of God thou art. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 

Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 
Stretched, as if asking alms. 

Why dost thou haunt me?" 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

"I was a Viking old ! 

My deeds, though manifold, 

No Skald in song has told. 

No Saga taught thee ! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 125 



Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse; 
For this I sought thee. 




126 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

*Tar in the Northern land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand, 

Tamed the gerfalcon; 
And, with my skates fast-bound. 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound, 

Trembled to walk on. 

"Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grizzly bear. 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were-wolf's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

*'But when I older grew. 
Joining a corsair's crew. 
O'er the dark sea I flew 
With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped. 
Many the hearts that bled, 
By our stern orders. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 127 

"Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing, 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale, 
Draining the oaken pail, 

Filled to o'erflowing. 

"Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea. 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning yet tender; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine, 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid. 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 



128 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

"Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all. 

Chanting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand. 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 

"While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 
And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn. 
Out of those lips unshorn. 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

"She was a Prince's child, 

I but a Viking wild, 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight, 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded? 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 129 

"Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen ! 
When on the white sea-strand. 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

"Then launched they to the blast. 
Bent like a reed each mast, 
Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed us; 
And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

"And as to catch the gale 
Round veered the flapping sail. 
Death ! was the helmsman's hail, 

Death without quarter! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water! 



I30 THE SKELETON IN ARMOR 

"As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt. 

With his prey laden, 
So toward the open main. 
Beating to sea again. 
Through the wild hurricane. 

Bore I the maiden. 

"Three weeks we westward bore. 
And when the storm was o'er. 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 

Stretching to leeward; 
There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour. 

Stands looking seaward. 

"There lived we many years ; 
Time dried the maiden's tears; 
She had forgot her fears. 

She was a mother; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 

On such another! 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 131 

"Still grew my bosom then, 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men. 

The sunlight hateful! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

O, death was grateful ! 

"Thus, seamed with many scars. 
Bursting these prison bars. 
Up to its native stars 

My soul ascended! 
There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul. 
Skoal! to the Northland! skoalT 

Thus the tale ended. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea ; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 



132 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy-flax, 
Her cheeks Hke the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorn buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

His pipe was in his mouthy 
And he watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 
Had sailed to the Spanish Main, 

"I pray thee, put into yonder port, 
For I fear a hurricane. 

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring. 
And to-night no moon we see !" 

The skipper, he blew a whiff from his pipe. 
And a scornful laugh laughed he. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Northeast, 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain 
The vessel in its strength; 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 133 

She shuddered and paused, like a frightened steed, 
Then leaped her cable's length. 




134 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

*^Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so; 
For I can weather the roughest gale 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar. 

And bound her to the mast. 

'*0 father ! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be?" 
"T is a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast !" — 

And he steered for the open sea. 

"O father! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say, what may it be?" 
"Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea!" 

"O father ! I see a gleaming light, 

O say, what may it be ?" 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse was he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 
With his face turned to the skies. 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 135 

The lantern gleamed through the gleaming snow 
On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

Then the maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave, 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 

Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Tow'rds the Reef of Norman's Woe. 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land ; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 

She struck where the white and fleecy waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 



136 THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she stove and sank, 
Ho ! ho ! the breakers roared ! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea-weed, 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow ! 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe ! 








The shades of night were falling fast, 
As through an Alpine village passed 
A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, 
A banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

His brow was sad ; his eye beneath 
Flashed like a falchion from its sheath. 
And like a silver clarion rung 
The accents of that unknown tongue, 
Excelsior ! 

In happy homes he saw the light 

Of household fires gleam warm and bright; 



137 



138 EXCELSIOR 

Above, the spectral glaciers shone, 
And from his lips escaped a groan, 
Excelsior ! 

'Try not the Pass!'* the old man said; 
"Dark lowers the tempest overhead. 
The roaring torrent is deep and wide!'* 
And loud that clarion voice replied, 
Excelsior ! 

"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest 
Thy weary head upon this breast!" 
A tear stood in his bright blue eye, 
But still he answered, with a sigh. 
Excelsior ! 

"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! 
"Beware the awful avalanche!" 
This was the peasant's last Good-night, 
A voice replied, far up the height, 
Excelsior I 

At break of day, as heavenward 
The pious monks of Saint Bernard 
Uttered the oft-repeated prayer, 
A voice cried through the startled air, 
Excelsior ! 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 139 

A traveller, by the faithful hound. 
Half-buried in the snow was found, 
Still grasping in his hand of ice 
That banner with the strange device, 
Excelsior ! 

There in the twilight cold and gray. 
Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay. 
And from the sky, serene and far, 
A voice fell, like a falling star, 
Excelsior ! 

PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. 

Listen, my children, and you shall hear 

Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 

On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five ; 

Hardly a man is now alive 

Who remembers that famous day and year. 

He said to his friend, "If the British march 
By land or sea from the town to-night. 
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 
Of the North Church tower as a signal light, — 
One, if by land, and two, if by sea ; 



I40 PAUL REVERE' S RIDE 

And I on the opposite shore will be, 
Ready to ride and spread the alarm 
Through every Middlesex village and farm, 
For the country folk to be up and to arm." 

Then he said ''Good night!" and with muffled oar 

Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore, 

Just as the moon rose over the bay. 

Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 

The Somerset, British man-of-war; 

A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 

Across the moon like a prison bar. 

And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 

By its own reflection in the tide. 

Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street. 
Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
Till in the silence around him he hears 
The muster of men at the barrack door, 
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, 
And the measured tread of the grenadiers. 
Marching down to their boats on the shore. 

Then he climbed the tower of the Old North 

Church, 
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. 
To the belfry-chamber overhead, 



PAUL REVERE^S RIDE 



141 



And startled the pigeons from their perch 
On the sombre rafters, that round him made 
Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 




^^c-/ 



142 PAUL REVERE^S RIDE 

By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 
To the highest window in the wall, 
Where he paused to listen and look down 
A moment on the roofs of the town, 
And the moonlight flowing over all. 

Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 

In their night-encampment on the hill. 

Wrapped in silence so deep and still 

That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 

The watchful night-wind, as it went 

Creeping along from tent to tent. 

And seeming to whisper, *'A11 is well !" 

A moment only he feels the spell 

Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread 

Of the lonely belfry and the dead; 

For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 

On a shadowy something far away. 

Where the river widens to meet the bay, — 

A line of black that bends and floats 

On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats. 

Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
Now he patted his horse's side, 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 143 

Now gazed at the landscape far and near, 
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth. 
And turned and tightened his saddle-girth ; 
But mostly he watched with eager search 
The belfry-tower of the Old North Church, 
As it rose above the graves on the hill. 
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still. 
And lo ! as he looks, on the belfry's height 
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light ! 
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns, 
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
A second lamp in the belfry burns! 

A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark. 
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark 
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet : 
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and 

the light, 
The fate of a nation was riding that night; 
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his 

flight. 
Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 

He has left the village and mounted the steep, 
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep, 



144 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 

Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides ; 
And under the alders, that skirt its edge, 
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge, 
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 

It was twelve by the village clock 

When he crossed the bridge into Medford town. 

He heard the crowing of the cock, 

And the barking of the farmer's dog, 

And felt the damp of the river fog, 

That rises after the sun goes down. 

It was one by the village clock. 

When he galloped into Lexington. 

He saw the gilded weathercock 

Swim in the moonlight as he passed. 

And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare. 

Gaze at him with a spectral glare. 

As if they already stood aghast 

At the bloody work they would look upon. 

It was two by the village clock, 

When he came to the bridge in Concord town. 

He heard the bleating of the flock. 

And the twitter of birds among the trees, 

'And felt the breath of the morning breeze 



PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 



145 



Blowing over the meadows brown. 
And one was safe and asleep in his bed 
Who at the bridge would be first to fall, 




146 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 

Who that day would be lying dead, 
Pierced by a British musket-ball. 

You know the rest. In the books you have read 
How the British Regulars fired and fled, — 
How the farmers gave them ball for ball. 
From behind each fence and farm-yard wall, 
Chasing the red-coats down the lane. 
Then crossing the fields to emerge again 
Under the trees at the turn of the road. 
And only pausing to fire and load. 

So through the night rode Paul Revere; 

And so through the night went his cry of alarm 

To every Middlesex village and farm, — 

A cry of defiance and not of fear, 

A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, 

And a word that shall echo f orevermore ! 

For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, 

Through all our history, to the last. 

In the hour of darkness and peril and need, 

The people will waken and listen to hear 

The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed. 

And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 



THE BRIDGE. 

I STOOD on the bridge at midnight, 

As the clocks were striking the hour, 

And the moon rose o'er the city, 
Behind the dark church-tower. 

I saw her bright reflection 

In the waters under me, 
Like a golden goblet falling 

And sinking into the sea. 

And far in the hazy distance 

Of that lovely night in June, 
The blaze of the flaming furnace 

Gleamed redder than the moon. 

Among the long, black rafters. 

The wavering shadows lay, 
And the current that came from the ocean 

Seemed to lift and bear them away; 

As, sweeping and eddying through them. 

Rose the belated tide, 
And, streaming into the moonlight, 

The seaweed floated wide. 

147 



148 THE BRIDGE 

And like those waters rushing 
Among the wooden piers, 

A flood of thoughts came o'er me 
That filled my eyes with tears. 

How often, O how often. 

In the days that had gone by, 

I had stood on that bridge at midnight 
And gazed on that wave and sky ! 

How often, O how often, 

I had wished that the ebbing tide 

Would bear me away on its bosom 
O'er the ocean wild and wide! 

For my heart w^as hot and restless, 
And my life was full of care. 

And the burden laid upon me 

Seemed greater than I could bear. 

But now it has fallen from me, 

It is buried in the sea; 
And only the sorrow of others 

Throws its shadow over me. 

Yet whenever I cross the river 
On its bridge with wooden piers, 



THE BRIDGE 

Like the odor of brine from the ocean 
Comes the thought of other years. 



149 




And I think how many thousands 

Of care-encumbered men, 
Each bearing his burden of sorrow, 

Have crossed the bridge since then. 



I50 THE BRIDGE 

I see the long procession 
Still passing to and fro, 

The young heart hot and restless. 
And the old subdued and slow! 

And forever and forever, 
As long as the river flows, 

As long as the heart has passions, 
As long as life has woes; 

The moon and its broken reflection 
And its shadows shall appear, 

As the symbol of love in heaven, 
And its wavering image here. 




SANDALPHON. 

Have you read in the Talmud of old, 
In the Legends the Rabbins have told 

Of the limitless realms of the air, 
Have you read it, — the marvellous story 
Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, 

Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? 

How, erect, at the outermost gates 
Of the City Celestial he waits. 

With his feet on the ladder of light. 
That, crowded with angels unnumbered, 
By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered 

Alone in the desert at night? 

The Angels of Wind and of Fire 
Chant only one hymn, and expire 

With the song's irresistible stress ; 
Expire in their rapture and wonder. 
As harp-strings are broken asunder 

By music they throb to express. 

But serene in the rapturous throng. 
Unmoved by the rush of the song, 

With eyes unimpassioned and slow, 
Among the dead angels, the deathless 

ISI 



152 SANDALPHON 

Sandalphon stands listening breathless 
To sounds that ascend from below; — 

From the spirits on earth that adore, 
From the souls that entreat and implore 

In the fervor and passion of prayer ; 
From the hearts that are broken with losses, 
And weary with dragging the crosses 

Too heavy for mortals to bear. 

And he gathers the prayers as he stands, 
And they change into flowers in his hands, 

Into garlands of purple and red; 
And beneath the great arch of the portal, 
Through the streets of the City Immortal 

Is wafted the fragrance they shed. 

It is but a legend, I know, — 
A fable, a phantom, a show, 

Of the ancient Rabbinical lore; 
Yet the old medieval tradition. 
The beautiful, strange superstition, 

But haunts me and holds me the more. 

When I look from my window at night, 
And the welkin above is all white, 

All throbbing and panting with stars. 
Among them majestic is standing 



SANDALPHON 



153 



Sandalphon the angel, expanding 
His pinions in nebulous bars. 




154 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

And the legend, I feel, is a part 

Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, 

The frenzy and fire of the brain. 
That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, 
The golden pomegranates of Eden, 

To quiet its fever and pain. 

-*. 

THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH. 

Under a spreading chestnut-tree 

The village smithy stands; 
The smith, a mighty man is he. 

With large and sinewy hands ; 
And the muscles of his brawny arms 

Are strong as iron bands. 

His hair is crisp, and black, and long, 

His face is like the tan ; 
His brow is wet with honest sweat. 

He earns whate'er he can. 
And looks the whole world in the face, 

For he owes not any man. 

Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
You can hear his bellows blow ; 



THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 155 



You can hear him swing his heavy sledge, 
With measured beat and slow. 

Like a sexton ringing the village bell. 
When the evening sun is low. 




156 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 

And children coming home from school 

Look in at the open door ; 
They love to see the flaming forge, 

And hear the bellows roar, 
And catch the burning sparks that fly 

Like chaff from a threshing-floor. 

He goes on Sunday to the church, 

And sits among his boys; 
He hears the parson pray and preach. 

He hears his daughter's voice, 
Singing in the village choir. 

And it makes his heart rejoice. 

It sounds to him like her mother's voice, 

Singing in Paradise! 
He needs must think of her once more. 

How in the grave she lies ; 
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 

A tear out of his eyes. 

Toiling, — rejoicing, — sorrowing. 
Onward through life he goes; 

Each morning sees some task begin, 
Each evening sees it close; 

Something attempted, something done, 
Has earned a night's repose. 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 157 

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, 

For the lesson thou hast taught! 
Thus at the flaming forge of Hfe 

Our fortunes must be wrought; 
Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 

Each burning deed and thought. 



THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 

Somewhat back from the village street 

Stands the old-fashioned country-seat. 

Across its antique portico 

Tall poplar trees their shadows throw; 

And from its station in the hall 

An ancient timepiece says to all, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

Half-way up the stairs it stands. 
And points and beckons with its hands 
From its case of massive oak. 
Like a monk, who, under his cloak. 



158 THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 

Crosses himself, and sighs, alas! 

With sorrowful voice to all who pass, — 

''Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

By day its voice is low and light ; 

But in the silent dead of night, 

Distinct as a passing footstep's fall. 

It echoes along the vacant hall, 

Along the ceiling, along the floor, 

And seems to say, at each chamber-door, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

Through days of sorrow and of mirth, 
Through days of death and days of birth, 
Through every swift vicissitude 
Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood. 
And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
It calmly repeats those words of awe, — 

''Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

In that mansion used to be 
Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
His great fires up the chimney roared; 
The stranger feasted at his board; 



iTHE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 159 

But, like the skeleton at the feast. 
That warning timepiece never ceased, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

There groups of merry children played, 
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed; 




O precious hours ! O golden prime, 
And affluence of love and time ! 
Even as a miser counts his gold. 
Those hours the ancient timepiece told,- 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 



i6o THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS 

From that chamber, clothed in white, 

The bride came forth on her wedding night; 

There, in that silent room below, 

The dead lay in his shroud of snow ; 

And in the hush that followed the prayer, 

Was heard the old clock on the stair, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 

All are scattered now and fled, 
Some are married, some are dead; 
And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
"Ah! when shall they all meet again?" 
As in the days long since gone by. 
The ancient timepiece makes reply, — 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !'* 

Never here, forever there, 
Where all parting, pain, and care, 
And death, and time shall disappear, — 
Forever there, but never here! 
The horologe of Eternity 
Sayeth this incessantly,— 

"Forever — never ! 

Never — forever !" 



THE TWO ANGELS. 

Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, 
Passed o'er our village as the morning broke; 

The dawn was on their faces, and beneath, 

The sombre houses hearsed with plumes of 
smoke. 

Their attitude and aspect were the same. 
Alike their features and their robes of white ; 

But one was crowned with amaranth, as with 
flame. 
And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. 

I saw them pause on their celestial way ; 

Then said I, with deep fear and doubt oppressed, 
"Beat not so loud, my heart, lest thou betray 

The place where thy beloved are at rest!" 

And he who wore the crown of asphodels, 
Descending, at my door began to knock. 

And my soul sank within me, as in wells 

The waters sink before an earthquake's shock. 

x6i 



i62 THE TWO ANGELS 

I recognized the nameless agony, 

The terror and the tremor and the pain, 

That oft before had filled or haunted me, 

And now returned with threefold strength 
again. 

The door I opened to my heavenly guest. 

And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice ; 

And, knowing whatsoe'er he sent was best. 
Dared neither to lament nor to rejoice. 

Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, 
"My errand is not Death, but Life," he said; 

And ere I answered, passing out of sight. 
On his celestial embassy he sped. 

'T was at thy door, O friend ! and not at mine, 
The angel with the amaranthine wreath. 

Pausing, descended, and with voice divine. 

Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. 

Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, 
A shadow on those features fair and thin ; 

And softly, from that hushed and darkened room, 
Two angels issued, where but one went in. 



THE TWO ANGELS 



163 



All is of God ! If he but wave his hand, 

The mists collect, the rain falls thick and loud, 

Till, with a smile of light on sea and land, 
Lo ! he looks back from the departing cloud. 




i64 THE SINGERS 

Angels of Life and Death alike are his ; 

Without his leave they pass no threshold o'er ; 
Who, then, would wish or dare, believing this, 

Against his messengers to shut the door? 



THE SINGERS. 

God sent his Singers upon earth 
With songs of sadness and of mirth. 
That they might touch the hearts of men, 
And bring them back to heaven again. 

The first, a youth, with soul of fire, 

Held in his hand a golden lyre; 

Through groves he wandered, and by streams, 

Playing the music of our dreams. 

The second, with a bearded face, 
Stood singing in the market-place, 
And stirred with accents deep and loud 
The hearts of all the listening crowd. 

A gray, old man, the third and last. 
Sang in cathedrals dim and vast, 



A PSALM OF LIFE 165 

While the majestic organ rolled 
Contrition from its mouths of gold. 

And those who heard the singers three 
Disputed which the best might be; 
For still their music seemed to start 
Discordant echoes in each heart. 

But the great Master said, "I see 

No best in kind, but in degree; 

I gave a various gift to each. 

To charm, to strengthen, and to teach. 

"These are the three great chords of might. 
And he whose ear is tuned aright 
Will hear no discord in the three, 
But the most perfect harmony." 

J^ 
A PSALM OF LIFE. 

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO 
THE PSALMIST. 

Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 
"Life is but an empty dream!" 

For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 



i66 A PSALM OF LIFE 

Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal; 
"Dust thou art, to dust returnest," 

Was not spoken of the soul. 

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow. 
Is our destined end or way; 

But to act, that each to-morrow 
Find us farther than to-day. 

Art is long, and Time is fleeting. 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 

Still, like muffled drums, are beating 
Funeral marches to the grave. 

In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle! 

Be a hero in the strife! 

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead! 
Act, — act in the living Present! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead! 

Lives of great men all remind us 
We can make our lives sublime, 



WEARINESS 167 

And, departing, leave behind us 
Footprints on the sands of time; 



Footprints, that perhaps another. 
Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 

A forlorn and shipwreck'd brother, 
Seeing, shall take heart again. 

Let us, then, be up and doing, 
With a heart for any fate ; 

Still achieving, still pursuing, 
Learn to labor and to wait. 



WEARINESS. 

O LITTLE feet ! that such long years 
Must wander on through hopes and fears, 

Must ache and bleed beneath your load ; 
I, nearer to the wayside inn 
Where toil shall cease and rest begin. 

Am weary, thinking of your road! 



i68 WEARINESS 

O little hands ! that, weak or strong, 
Have still to serve or rule so long, 

Have still so long to give or ask ; 
I, v^ho so much with book and pen 
Have toiled among my fellow-men, 

Am weary, thinking of your task. 

O little hearts ! that throb and beat 
With such impatient, feverish heat. 

Such limitless and strong desires; 
Mine that so long has glowed and burned, 
With passions into ashes turned 

Now covers and conceals its fires. 

O little souls ! as pure and white 
And crystalline as rays of light 

Direct from heaven, their soured divine; 
Refracted through the mist of years. 
How red my setting sun appears. 

How lurid looks this soul of mine ! 



THE DAY IS DONE. 

The day is done, and the darkness 
Falls from the wings of Night, 

As a feather is wafted downward 
From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 

And a feeling of sadness comes o*er me 
That my soul cannot resist: 

A feeHng of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 

Come, read to me some poem, 
Some simple and heartfelt lay. 

That shall soothe this restless feeling, 
And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters, 
Not from the bards sublime, 
169 



I70 THE DAY IS DONE 

Whose distant footsteps echo 
Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music, 
Their mighty thoughts suggest 

Life's endless toil and endeavor; 
And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start ; 

Who, through long days of labor. 
And nights devoid of ease, 

Still heard in his soul the music 
Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come like the benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice. 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice; 



THE DAY IS DONE 



171 



And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares, that infest the day. 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And as silently steal away. 




3l)-77-9 



